Private Dicks
by EFC
Summary: I think the title sorta speaks for itself, but if not: Edward & Jasper are Private Detectives in NYC. Nemeses, but forced to work together to save a young girl from a horrible fate. J/E slash-AH
1. Chapter 1

_Just a heads up about this story. It's very different than my last one which was quite heavy on the angst. I loved writing 'Love Between Sexes,' and I loved your response to it even more. The story meant a lot to me personally, so I doubt I will ever be able to recreate something like it. I hope you can judge this story on its own, and not compare the two. _My only hope is to write a fun, action-filled, love-story between two men._ It's not a typical slash story, yes, there will be sex, just like there was in 'LBS' but it will be built into the story,_ so please take that into consideration before you continue to read on_. Thank you for taking a chance with this second slash story!_

_~*EFC*~_

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><p><strong><span>~*Private Dicks – Chapter 1*~<span>**

EDWARD CULLEN STARED AT the front page of _The New York Times_. Grinding his teeth, he slowly counted to ten. He breathed in and out, trying to control his blood pressure and when he reached ten, he spread the newsprint on his desk and smoothed out the wrinkles made from his fists. He stood up, pushing his chair back and leaned over to read the by-line again.

_Monday, March 28, 2011_

_Whitlock Locks in Million Dollar Drug Bust_

He skimmed the article for the third time, but this time he focused his eyes on one quote in particular.

"_Private Investigator Whitlock's findings were instrumental to this operation. Without his work, we never would have found the persons involved. His investigations gave us the leverage we needed to get the warrant. The city is grateful to him." The statement was issued by Police Commissioner C— _

Edward did the only thing he could do. "Alice!"

In the other room, Alice Brandon, the woman in question, cringed when she heard her name yelled from the lips of her boss. She took a deep breath, putting the lid back on the ruby-red nail polish, and counted to ten while she waved her fingers to dry her nails. She leaned her head over the side of her desk to look in the garbage bin. The newspaper she'd discarded earlier was gone which meant Edward had seen this morning's paper despite her efforts to keep it from him. She cursed under her breath and poked her head around her boss' doorframe, batting her eyelashes innocently.

"Yesss?" she asked, and gave him her most winning smile.

"Did you see this?"

"See what?"

He grunted. "Don't play dumb, you tried to hide it from me." He hadn't looked up at her, his head was still hovering over the front page.

"Oh! That. Yes. Yes I did."

"Oh! That... yes." He mocked her. "And how is it that Jasper Whitlock managed to grace the front page of _The New York Times_ again. _Front page!_" He crumpled up the newspaper and slammed it in the waste basket beside him. "Again!"

"Well..." Alice knew she needed to tread softly. "That was the case you didn't want to take."

"What? No it wasn't," he snapped.

"Ah, yes. It was." Edward shook his head and Alice raised her finger at him. "I distinctly remember you saying, and I quote, 'Let the bottom feeders take in Yorkie. He's not worth the dry cleaning bill.'" She used her 'Edward' voice, tight and petulant, and when she imitated him like that, she usually ran her fingers through her hair like he did some times in vain, but she didn't this time because of her nails.

"I didn't say that." He walked around the desk and stood in front of the glass windows overlooking Battery Park. He put his hands on his hips, avoiding the piece he wore, and let out a frustrated sigh. He looked over his shoulder at her. "And that doesn't sound like me."

"It sounds _exactly_ like you."

"How does he do it?" He said it under his breath, more to himself, and Alice knew this was her cue to let him mull this over and brood the morning away. "I'll need a—"

"Venti extra hot, no water, soy Chai latte," Alice mumbled as she left the room. "Coming right up."

She grabbed her purse, carefully avoiding her tacky nails and left the office as quickly as she could. Alice knew better than to stick around when Edward was in one of his moods, especially when that mood was caused by the one person who could always get under his skin. Jasper Whitlock was relatively new to the city, and was making quite the name for himself, taking some of the glory away from her boss, who, for the past four years, was all too happy to take. Edward Cullen didn't like to share. Ever. And he definitely didn't like to share with a 'crass-backwoods-hillbilly-hotshot' like Jasper Whitlock. Edward's words, not hers.

She liked working for Edward. She liked the flexibility that came with the job. She didn't have to work a typical work week, which suited her just fine, even if the hours made it difficult to have any kind of relationship, but Edward paid her well. Very well. Edward liked nice things, and he liked to surround himself with nice things, which Alice enjoyed immensely. Come tax time, she claimed a nice respectable income, just like any personal assistant would earn in Manhattan. But Alice's job wasn't as black and white as that. The business Edward was in, tended to fall in and around the grey areas which meant so did her paychecks.

She had told him about the Yorkie job, just like any other job, but Edward Cullen was stubborn. She learned this in the first year she worked for him. Anything Edward didn't want to do, he didn't, even if that meant offending the wrong people. It was the reason he took an 'extended leave' from the police force four years ago. According to the Police Commissioner, Edward owed an apology to the Mayor of New York City. Edward respectfully disagreed. What Edward had done to warrant the apology, Alice knew that story, but what she didn't know was the reason why Edward had done what he did or why he wouldn't apologize. No matter how much digging she tried to do, no one seemed to know the real story behind Edward's suspension and eventual dismissal. There were rumors of course, 'Edward was a dirty cop on the take. How else could he afford all of the expensive things he owned.' But Alice never believed that. Despite Edward's stubbornness and propensity for fine things, he was solid and on the level. His honor shone bright and proud, and he would never be on the wrong side of the law. The truth was, Edward Cullen did have a lot of money, but he had a lot of rich clients who paid him for his expertise and, more importantly, for his name.

Alice took the elevator back up to the twenty-first floor and used her key card to enter through the glass doors of Cullen Agency Inc. She nodded to the tropical fish swimming in the tank—which was built into the wall—like she did every time she walked to her desk. Then she leaned in to smell the fresh cut flower arrangement which was delivered every Monday morning, white lilies mixed with eucalyptus leaves, her favorite combination. She really did like her job she reminded herself before walking back into Edward's office with his drink. She hated the smell of Chai, and couldn't for the life of her understand why Edward would drink it. It was something new he was trying, another health fad he must have read in a magazine at the gym. Hopefully it wouldn't be long until he found something new to try.

She opened the door to find him still staring out the window in the same spot she had left him. His shoulders were tense, and she could see his jaw was tight while he was deep in thought.

"Here is that god-awful drink you're drinking now. When are you going to switch to something new again? The smell gets up my nose and takes a while to get rid of it. Can't you go back to the caramel macchiato? At least it smelled delicious."

"Too fattening," he said absently.

"Yeah, you were getting chubby."

"What?" He turned around and looked down, patting his stomach. "Really?"

"No, you oaf, I'm kidding. You could never be chubby."

He finally smiled at her as he lifted his drink. "Thanks, Alice. I needed this."

"No one _needs_ that, but I'm glad I could help." She raised her eyebrows. "Dumb question, but are you okay?"

"Yes. No. Ah… I think so." She noticed he had uncrumpled the newspaper and it was sitting on his desk again.

"I've never seen someone get to you like he does." She pointed to the picture of Jasper leading Yorkie up the steps of the 1st Precinct in handcuffs. "Not even the Commissioner does," she mumbled. "What is it about him?"

"I don't know, Alice. The guy irritates me. He's a menace." He flicked the paper and added, "My own backyard, too. He did that on purpose, bringing Yorkie to the First."

"You're reading into things."

"Hardly. He's toying with me. He has been for the past few months. He's got something. Something big he's working on and he wants me to know it."

"Why would the 'hillbilly—'" Edward's head snapped up and Alice raised her hands in defense. "Hey, your words." She sidled around his desk and rested up against it knowing he hated it when she did it. He looked down at where she was sitting, making it known he was displeased, but then went back to looking at the newspaper. "So, why would Whitlock want to _toy_ with you?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out." He turned and pulled a file folder from his desk. "Yorkie is a two-bit criminal. Petty stuff, he's not done any real time. So, how is it he's involved in one of the largest drug-trafficking busts this year? And more importantly, how did that _yokel_ know about it?" He had opened the folder and his finger was tracing Eric Yorkie's rap sheet. "Parking tickets, possession, theft, solicitation... this kid is a nobody."

"Apparently. At least not enough to show up on your radar."

"So, why Whitlock's then?"

"Want me to do some digging? See what I can find out? Rosalie owes me a few favors."

"I need to get in and talk to Yorkie."

Alice scoffed and rolled her eyes. "We both know that ain't gonna happen. The last time you went through those doors, you were forcibly removed right back through them."

"McCarty was just being territorial. Trying to prove a point."

"And the point was?"

"That he's in charge." Edward was getting annoyed now, Alice could see it written across his forehead. That little indentation always appeared when he was deep in thought, or something was puzzling him.

"Usually a Captain is." She tried to make light of it but it was lost on him.

"You know what I mean."

"Edward, you and I both know _Captain_ McCarty will never let you have an audience with Yorkie."

"True enough." He nodded and pulled on his lower lip with his fingers. "I'll just have to improvise."

She put her hand on her hip and gave him 'the look.' The one that said she didn't like where this conversation was going. The one that meant she was going to have to do something she didn't want to do, or he was going to do something that landed in that grey area of the job. "Am I going to have to start looking for a new job, oh for... let's say... five to ten years? You just bought me that company car and it would be a shame to return it."

"Keep the car," he said absently.

"What are you going to do? Break into jail?" She laughed at her own joke, and he thought on it for a moment, and then a wolfish grin slowly appeared on his face.

"You're a genius, Alice."

"Oh, no! You're not planning what I'm thinking. Please tell me you're not! Edward, don't be stupid." He winked at her and was still grinning. "Let it go! The bad guy was caught, there's nothing more for you to do."

"There's more to this case. I can feel it."

"Edward," she warned.

He shoved the file folder back in his desk, grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair and headed for the door.

"Edward!"

"Keep your phone on," he said as he waved and left the office.

"You're incorrigible, Edward Cullen! But you already know this!"

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><p><em>Dedicated to V.<em>


	2. Chapter 2

**~* Chapter 2*~**

IT WAS LATE IN the afternoon and Alice still hadn't heard from Edward. She was starting to get nervous, even more so when Rosalie didn't take her call when she rang the station. All she could do was head down to the Precinct and see what the jackass had done this time. She didn't know how or why, but she knew he would be there.

She locked up the office and headed down the elevator to catch a cab. Just as she got to the lobby, her phone started buzzing. She accepted the collect call before she even heard who it was from.

"Assaulting a police officer? Really, Edward? And Seth, the arresting officer? Uh-huh. I should've known you'd get that eager pup involved. What did you promise him this time?"

"Just come get me. Bail me out."

"I have a good mind to leave you in there for a little bit. Ruin that nice suit of yours. Or maybe I should just call the Comm—"

"Alice..."

"It would do you some good, you know."

"Say goodbye to the Porsche, sweetheart."

"You said I could keep it."

"I still have the pink slip."

"Fine. I was already on my way. Had a feeling." She sighed. "And you can't keep holding that car over my head. Hand over that slip, would yah? What happens if the next time McCarty decides to keep you in there?"

She disconnected the call when the cab pulled up in front of the First. She had the company check book in hand, wondering how much it was going to cost him this time. He'd been arrested before, and she had bailed him out, but he'd never done it intentionally, not like this.

She was given access to the bullpen, everyone knew her, and Edward was there, laughing it up with the other detectives. Even though he would never admit it, she knew he missed it. He missed the camaraderie that came with being on the force. He said he liked to work alone, and liked not having the responsibility of answering to anyone, but it was just the façade he put on. She read it in his eyes. He lived and breathed being a cop…once upon a time. Everything about Edward screamed honor, and control, so to have done what he did to the mayor, something big must have happened. Edward's pride was never one to take a back seat, and he had refused to make a public apology, which ultimately cost him his job.

Alice did a sweep of the room and glimpsed Captain McCarty standing in his office, door closed, with his arms folded while he glared at Edward. She was familiar with that expression of his; it was one he reserved for all things Edward. The two had been partners, back in the day. Both of them had fast-tracked their way to being Lieutenants, but then Edward lost his badge and Emmett was promoted. It was all a part of Edward's mysterious dismissal, and Alice was sure the grudge Emmett still carried had everything to do with that. No one knew the circumstances surrounding Emmett's promotion and Edward's suspension. The two were tight lipped about it, and Emmett was still upset over it, hence the apparent animosity.

Alice waved to him and he gave a slight nod of acknowledgement and nothing else. She saw Rosalie's familiar blonde head through the crowd and walked over to her desk.

"Hey, short-round, come to bail the Prince out?"

"Looks like I don't need to." She waved the check book she held in her hand and hopped up on Rosalie's desk, her four inch heels swung out from under her.

"Yeah? Charges were dropped?" Rosalie nodded her head in Seth's direction.

"Guess so," Alice confirmed, before glancing over at the boys. Seth was sporting a nice shiner under his left eye. He stood next to Edward, leaning up against a desk and the two were laughing and swapping stories from the Academy. Seth was still a rookie, but Edward had taken a liking to him a few months ago. He said Seth showed promise, and that he wasn't like most rookies who didn't know what they were doing or were too afraid to take chances. He'd enlisted Seth's help on more than one occasion, which—Alice was positive—rubbed McCarty the wrong way.

"So what's the deal?" Rosalie asked Alice. "Why'd he want to get in the tank?"

"What do you know about the Yorkie bust?"

Rosalie shrugged. "Not much. He was picked up for trafficking. D.A.'s been here, and rumor has it, he's looking to cut a deal. That's all I know, but Emmett's been shut up in his office all morning."

"_Emmett_, huh?" Alice teased, and gently pushed Rosalie's shoulder. "Not, _Captain_ McCarty?"

"Shut it."

"Uh-huh." Alice smiled at Rosalie, and she could see the twinkle in her friend's eye.

"Alice." Edward called her name from across the room. His jacket was hanging from his fingers over his shoulder, and his tie was askew. If she didn't think of him as a brother, she would have easily found him delectable while he looked like that. He really did know how to wear Armani even after spending a morning brawling, getting arrested and hanging out in a jail cell. The man truly was a god amongst the common man, even if he was too uptight for his own good.

"Gotta go, Rose." She jumped off the desk and smoothed her skirt. "Let me know if you hear anything else. And you and I need to go for drinks soon and talk about..." Alice signaled to McCarty's office.

"Yeah, yeah." Rose waved her off. "Stay outta trouble, short-round."

**-.-.-**

ONCE EDWARD AND ALICE were safely inside a cab, she turned in her seat and started in on him.

"You better hope the Commissioner doesn't hear about this one." She was trying to be stern, but she couldn't help smiling at the thought of that conversation.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm sure someone had him on speed dial the moment I walked through those doors in handcuffs." He flexed his right fist, and Alice noticed the bruising on his knuckles.

She picked up his hand and gently smoothed her fingers over his skin. "Did you have to hit him so hard?"

"It had to look real. Besides, the kid was game. He's a hero taking a punch from me. He'll be out of his blues sooner than any of those other rooks."

"Or, you're liable to get his badge taken away from him." She gave him one of her famous 'warning' looks. The one where she crooked her left eyebrow, and waited for him to react, and he didn't disappoint.

"Oh, please, Alice. The kid's a good cop, and McCarty knows it. He's wasting away in those blues."

"What does he get out of this, then?"

"Besides taking me down?" Edward laughed.

"Yes, besides that."

"I promised to let him in on the bust."

"If there is one."

"Oh, there will be." Edward's eyes had lit up, and she could already see the wheels turning in his head.

"Spill it."

"Yorkie is a scapegoat. Small fish, just like I thought. He's going to turn State's evidence against a much, much bigger fish."

"Who?" Alice's gut had started to turn. She was already dreading the answer.

"Demetri Kozlov."

Her eyes went wide, and she felt the bile rising in her throat. "As in, Russian crime boss, Kozlov?"

"The very one."

"How did you get him to talk?" Alice asked, and then change her mind knowing better. Edward had a way of reading people, and always seemed to get what he needed from them. She waved her hand. "Forget that question, and tell me why someone like Yorkie would be involved with Kozlov? What could he possibly have on him?"

"That...I don't know. He wouldn't give me that much."

"Edward, this is bad. Like really bad. Kozlov isn't someone you want to mess around with."

"We've been trying to nail that bastard for years."

It wasn't often Edward swore, only when he was really worked up and Alice was suddenly afraid for him. "The police force has been trying to take him down...the FBI has been trying to take him down. Even Interpol, Edward. Not you."

"Same thing."

She forced a laugh. "Um, no, it's not."

"Alice."

"Edward." The blood in her veins had gone ice cold at the mention of Kozlov. She knew all the stories. This guy was untouchable and anyone who thought they could touch him usually ended up dead or disappeared for good. Witnesses went missing, judges were bought, nothing could stick on this guy and nothing ever would.

"I'm doing this, Alice, and I understand if you don't want to be a part of it. I can't ask you to risk your life for this, and I won't. Take some time off. I insist."

They'd left the cab and were waiting for the elevator. People were busy walking through the lobby of their building, not giving them a second glance. She grabbed his hand again, and gave it a squeeze.

"I'm with you. You know that. I'm always with you."

He smiled down at her, and then it faded when she heard an unfamiliar beeping sound. It was coming from his pocket, but it wasn't one of the usual beeps that came from his phone. He cursed under his breath and started hitting the elevator button repeatedly.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Did you lock up when you left?"

"Of course."

"Someone's broken into my office." The elevator doors chimed open. "Stay here," he ordered as he drew his weapon and stepped inside. She blanched and could only nod because her mouth had gone instantly dry.

Edward waited for the elevator doors to open before he aimed his gun out in front of him. He slowly walked toward the glass doors of the C.A.I. office, feeling somewhat confident. The glass was bullet proof, a luxury he invested in knowing one day it may come in handy. Today just might be that day. His eyes were wide, looking for the slightest possible movement. He glanced at the security pad, and the light was still red. Whoever was inside had bypassed the keycard. It had to be a professional. Edward dug in his pocket for his own keycard and swiped it, and didn't wait to watch the light turn green before he gently grabbed the metal handle and twisted, hoping it didn't make too much noise to alert the intruder of his arrival. He slipped inside the door, sweeping his eyes and gun to the left and right. Whoever was here was in his office. Taking a deep breath, he approached the mahogany double doors, and looked through the crack between them.

"What the f—" he said as he swung open the door.

"Now, now, Cullen. You wouldn't want to waste that perfect gentleman reputation on me. I was told you didn't curse?"

Edward's gun was still raised, aimed at the intruder. His finger rested on the trigger.

"Do you mind lowering your gun?"

"I should shoot you."

"But then you'd ruin the marble tiles. Think of the mess. Blood's a bitch to get out."

"How did you get in here?"

"Please," the intruder scoffed. His hands were folded behind his head and he was leaning back in Edward's chair with his boots resting on top of his custom built desk, and the boots were leaving marks on the leather blotter. The man had Yorkie's folder resting in his lap. "Nice digs you got here."

"I should shoot you." Edward still had his finger on the trigger.

"You said that already."

"What are you doing here?"

The intruder lifted his dusty boots off the desk, and stood up with his hand outstretched.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure." Edward stared down at the man's hand, and his lip automatically turned up at the thought of touching it. "Jasper Whitlock," the man said, and smiled.

Edward didn't move, but his eyes swept the room looking to see if anything had been disturbed.

"Relax, _hotshot_, lower your gun." Whitlock turned from Edward and went straight to the hidden panel in the wall. He pushed the release button, and part of the wall disappeared revealing crystal glasses and a few canters of the 'good stuff' Edward kept on hand for special occasions. Whitlock poured two fingers worth of Edward's top-shelf whiskey and toasted him.

Edward's blood started to boil, and the rage surged as he imagined what Whitlock had been doing to get this kind of intel on his office. Not to mention he'd used the word Edward often called the man. "You bugged my office. You've been spying on me!"

Whitlock pinched his fingers together. "Just a bit." He sipped the whiskey and grinned. "Now, that's the good stuff. Shall I pour you one, or you gonna keep pointing that gun at me?"

Edward's arms had started to lower while he watched Whitlock maneuver around his office, but they were back up now. The gun was aimed directly at his chest. "I really should shoot you."

"Then get it over with." Whitlock shrugged, not even flinching. "But then you'll never know why I'm here. And you're desperate to know why I am. Sit down, have a drink." Whitlock sat on the white leather couch that was to the right of Edward's desk, and Edward found himself cringing when the man placed his boots on his smoke-colored glass coffee table. "I'll even let you have your chair back."

"_NYPD!" _

Neither of them turned their heads toward the voice coming from the front office. Whitlock smirked.

"You called the cops, Cullen?" He laughed and took another sip of his drink.

Edward finally lowered his gun, and mumbled Alice's name. "Don't touch anything," he said as he put his gun back in its holster.

"Wouldn't dream of it."


	3. Chapter 3

**~*Chapter 3*~**

EDWARD GAVE HIS STATEMENT to the two uniforms all the while glaring at Alice. She didn't apologize, even if she did feel a little sheepish under his scowl. He watched her from the corner of his eye while she poked her head around his office door to look inside. The shock registered on her face when she saw the intruder, and she laughed at the predicament. She mouthed her curiosity to Edward, while he continued to explain the misunderstanding to the police officers. He knew it wouldn't be long before the whole Precinct heard what had happened, how 'Cullen called the cops on Whitlock' even if it wasn't him who did the actual calling.

The officers eventually left, and Edward turned his wrath toward Alice.

"I'm not apologizing," she said. "I did the right thing, especially with this whole business." She waved her hand in the air.

"Time for you to go home, Alice." Edward looked at his watch. "Don't you have a date?"

"No way! I'm staying." She settled into her chair and winked at him. "What does he want?" she whispered.

"If you leave, I'll be able to find out." He put his hands on his hips, letting her know he meant business.

"Fine." She stood up, grabbing her things. "But you better tell me _everything_ tomorrow morning."

Edward took one last deep breath before entering his office. Whitlock was in the exact same position as he had left him, and as promised, it looked as though he hadn't touched anything. Although Edward did notice his drink was topped up, and he was sure the guy had taken a good look around his office. He was sitting casually, with his legs crossed resting on his coffee table. His arms were stretched out on the leather sofa with one hand holding the crystal glass. He was wearing jeans, the kind of jeans that were worn through and not because they were stylish but worn from use and age. Edward realized it was the first time denim had touched the white Italian leather on his sofa. His blood pressure was on the rise again.

The sun had started to set, and the lights automatically adjusted for the fading daylight. Edward poured himself a drink while he assessed the situation. The man had a confidence about him. He could tell by the way he wore his plaid shirt. It was tight in all the right places, showing off his definition, and how fit he actually was. Whitlock was a man who knew how to take care of himself in a fight, and not just win it, but win it without breaking a sweat. Edward silently cursed at himself for not checking into Whitlock's background, but up until now, he was just another P.I. trying to make it in the city. Whitlock didn't work with his kind of clientele, he hadn't been a threat, but Edward had clearly been wrong. Edward's instincts had him thinking Whitlock was military, everything about him, apart from his long blond hair which hung down past his ears, screamed Army, and he was certain he wouldn't find much on the guy even if he did go looking.

"So, Whitlock, where's the bug?" Edward sat in his chair, if anything, to assume some kind of authority over the guy. It wasn't much, but he wanted to try and level the playing field. Whitlock had broken into his office, and had him on surveillance for God knows how long.

He laughed at Edward, and it intimidated him. It was rare someone could do that, and he didn't like the feeling.

"You surprise me," Whitlock said. "I mean, with all this fancy shit up here, you'd think you'd have precautions in place when it came to this kind of stuff. I was sure you'd catch it sooner or later." Whitlock's eyes drifted over to the modern sculpture in the corner of the room sitting on a sleek, black table. "A little cliché, don't you think?" He got up off the couch and walked over to the rendition of Lady Justice. "Scales or sword, Cullen." He turned to Edward, eyebrows raised.

Edward couldn't take his eyes off of Whitlock. They followed the man as he walked from the sofa to the sculpture. He seemed to take up the entire room with his presence, the man was tall, a few inches taller than Edward was, and he was having a difficult time from feeling inferior.

"Pardon me?" Edward asked, realizing Whitlock was speaking to him.

"See…" he pointed his finger at him, smiling, "they said you had manners. Scales or sword, which is it you believe?"

"Both. And who's they?" he asked, realizing it was the second time Whitlock had used 'they' when speaking about him.

"Manners, maybe, but you're a bad liar." He reached up under the sword on the statue and pulled out a listening device, ignoring Edward's question. "I went with the sword. Power, that's what you're about."

"I believe in the law. Right and wrong."

"No you don't." He placed the bug on Edward's desk and sat back down. "And you know why I know that?"

"Enlighten me."

"Because your Lady Justice isn't blindfolded. None of us who do what we do believe in the law. It's why we do it. Catch the bad guys without the law getting in the way."

"I was a cop."

"_Was_ being the operative word. And now you take the law into your own hands."

"Whatever, Whitlock, can we get on with this?"

"Got some place to be I don't know about?" Whitlock took another sip of his whiskey. "You don't date. You haven't been out with any friends since you left the force. You hardly speak to your parents—"

"I know my life, thank you." Edward stopped him before he had put his entire world on display. He was fully aware what he'd been like these past four years. He had cut himself off from everyone he cared about, but with good reason. They didn't understand his choices, and he was tired of having to explain the same thing over and over. And as for women, well, they were always a mystery to him, and he never had much time or patience to figure them out. He knew what he'd become, and he threw himself into his work to fill the void. Edward knew all the rumors about himself, and why he had been forced to give up his badge. He could have easily cleared it up, but his personal life was no one's business. It was private, not public, and had nothing to do with being a cop.

Edward watched Whitlock with a careful eye as he looked around the room at all of his pricey possessions.

"I know what you're thinking," Edward said. "You think I haven't heard it all before?"

Whitlock chuckled. "No, Cullen, you have no idea what I'm thinking." He stared at Edward and it felt as though his eyes were burrowing deep down into him. Edward locked eyes with Whitlock and found that he couldn't look away despite how much he wanted to. His eyes held knowledge, and instantly he knew Whitlock was a threat, he could feel it in his bones. There was smugness in his eyes, and it unnerved Edward. He didn't know what it was about the man that left him so unsettled, but Edward felt the chill go down his spine before he forced himself to look away.

"Despite the rumors," Whitlock said, "you weren't a crooked cop. You're not the type."

"Well, now my life is complete. Jasper Whitlock doesn't think I'm guilty." Edward drank from his glass.

"A sense of humor too, now that's something I didn't know. They didn't tell me that about you."

"Who's _they_, Whitlock?" Edward asked while he rolled his eyes.

"You'd be surprised how much this, sorry what was the term, 'crass-backwoods-hillbilly-hotshot' can get out of your so-called friends."

"I thought we already established I don't have any friends."

"Well, that is true, but it's amazing what you can hear when you bug someone's office." He smiled again.

Edward sat back in his chair and rested his head against the back of it. His heart had skipped a few beats as he fought to control his anger. This was all a game, and the last thing Edward would give Whitlock was the satisfaction in knowing he was getting to him. "So, out with it. So far, all you've done is annoy the shit out of me—"

"There you go with the swearing again. Please, don't. Not on my account."

"Are you going to tell me why you're here or not? You're assumed arrogance is tedious."

Whitlock eyed him for a moment, like he was sizing him up. He even went so far as to run a finger over his bottom lip, while his eyes narrowed on him. Edward feigned his boredom while he waited for him to say something. Instead, Whitlock stood up, took his drink to the alcove and picked up the bottle again. He was about to pour another drink, but something at his side caught his eye. Turning his head, he stared at Edward's built in bookshelf which held a collection of artifacts and pictures, and anything but books. He put the bottle down, changing his mind, and took a few strides toward Edward's desk. He spread his arms wide and leaned down over the surface.

"Stay away from my case," Whitlock said with a deadpan voice.

"What case?" Edward lied.

"Cut the horseshit, you know damn well which case. Yorkie, and what he's got is mine."

"And what is it you think he's got?"

"Nothing that can benefit you."

"He's going to turn State's evidence," Edward said and shrugged. "What do I care?"

Whitlock straightened up and laughed. "You think that little dipshit will last long if he does? And he's got nothing that would stick on him, anyway."

"How do you know who I meant?"

"I know a lot about you, Cullen." His eyes went to the cabinet behind Edward where he held his current cases. His eyes narrowed on one drawer in particular out of the five, the one with the false bottom containing his files on Kozlov. It was a coincidence, Edward convinced himself. The man was like any other wannabe P.I. trying to assert his position in the city. He came to Edward because Edward was the best, and this asshole, Whitlock, was trying to play his hand in his card game.

Edward leaned forward in his chair, feeling as though there was a power shift between them. This was Edward's territory now, and he could feel his own confidence resurface. "So, why bust Yorkie, then? If you know he's a deadman."

Whitlock shrugged. "'Do the crime, serve the time.' What does it matter?"

"You did it to prove a point. You did it to rub it in my face." Edward pulled out the article from his desk and shoved it toward him.

"A memento? How sweet, you kept my picture. Want me to autograph it for you?"

"Cut the crap, Whitlock. What do you have? And why bring Yorkie to _my_ precinct? You were planning this. You wanted me to notice it." He pointed at the newspaper. "Notice you."

Whitlock was still hovering over Edward's desk and he saw the tic in the man's jaw. A shadow fell over Whitlock's eyes before he looked to the side, twisting his head, hiding something from Edward.

"Notice me?" Whitlock eventually said. "Wouldn't be difficult for you, would it?" He turned back giving him a wicked grin, and then winked.

Yes, Edward thought, this man was indeed a threat. He felt the flush on his cheeks, but he wouldn't react though. He never reacted anymore, not in the last four years, and he wouldn't let Whitlock gain the upper hand like that.

"I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean, but yes, I noticed. I noticed you've got a slight obsession with me. Bugging my office, talking to my friends, visiting my precinct, breaking into my office. What is it you want from me, Whitlock?" Edward slowly stood up, mirroring Whitlock's position on the other side of his desk. He leaned forward onto the palms of his hands, and the two were nose to nose, less than a foot away from each other. "Do you have a thing for me?" He smiled. "Should I be worried? Are there pictures of me all over your shitty, bachelor apartment? Do you watch me sleep? Or maybe it's my shower where the cameras are set up. Next time, I'll make sure to put on a good show for you." Edward watched the rage cloud Whitlock's eyes, at least it looked like rage, the tips of his ears had turned pink. He waited for him to react, he was sure the guy was going to hit him, so he braced himself for it. He held his breath, they both did, but then Whitlock straightened up, forcing out a deep sigh.

"Cullen, you may fool everyone else, but not me. I don't play games, and I sure as hell am not going to play any with you."

"Funny, coming from the guy who broke into my office and bugged it. Seems like a lot of effort to get my attention. Why?"

"Thanks for the drink." The dismissal in Whitlock's voice set Edward off.

"Where's the other bug?" Edward asked between clenched teeth

"See? You're already learning." Whitlock's grin was a wicked one as he strode over to the bookshelf and picked up a picture frame. He plucked the bug and tossed it to Edward, replacing the frame exactly where it was. "So sweet," he said, his tone mocking. He tapped the glass with his finger and made his way to Edward's door. "See you around, Cullen."

Long after Whitlock had left, Edward still stared at the picture frame thinking about what had just happened. Whitlock had known everything about him and his life. He had no way of knowing how long his office had been bugged, but he got the impression it had been a while. Edward had been too careless as of late. He was getting cocky with his busts and his clients, and he got the feeling Whitlock had known this. There was something about the way the man was acting which made him think he had changed his mind about reaching out to Edward. He had wanted something from Edward, but instead, he only toyed with him and then left. Edward couldn't shake the feeling Whitlock was disappointed with him, a feeling he knew all too well. He got up from his desk and went to the bookshelf, studying the picture in the frame. His father's eyes stared right back at him.


	4. Chapter 4

**~*Chapter 4*~**

IT HAD BEEN OVER a week since Jasper had broken into Edward's office, and he was still no closer to the truth behind the visit. He was right about one thing though, the background check on Whitlock had turned up nothing special. He grew up in Texas, a small town, where his parents owned a ranch. He played high school football and from what Edward had read in the local archives, he had turned down a full-ride scholarship to play College ball. Instead, wanted to serve his country and joined the Army. After that, there wasn't much he could find on Whitlock. For eleven years it seemed as though Whitlock didn't exist, until eventually his name showed up in some Army records Edward had to call in favors to get. 'Honorably discharged.' That was all. There was nothing else anyone could tell him, which of course had Edward's alarm bells ringing. No records for eleven years? Special Forces, Edward was sure of it.

He was sitting at his desk, it was early, Alice wouldn't arrive with his morning latte for another hour. He hadn't been sleeping the last few nights and had been up before dawn, either hitting the gym or going for a run. This morning, too distracted to do anything else, he had decided to come into the office.

"Shit," Edward mumbled while staring at the information on his computer. He was out of his league with Whitlock. The guy could run circles around him and he was. The taps in his office were toys. Whitlock was playing with him to see what kind of competition he was up against, and Edward had failed. Miserably. But why would someone with Whitlock's history turn up in New York four years later, trying to make it as a P.I? It didn't make sense, none of it did, and Edward couldn't help but think it had everything to do with Kozlov.

He was going over his files on the crime boss for the thousandth time, hoping to catch something he had missed. He had been secretly building a case on the man for almost five years, even while he was on the force. No one knew about this obsession of his, no one but McCarty, his partner at the time. The two of them had a run in with Kozlov. He was the prime suspect in a murder case they were investigating. A dancer from one of his clubs had turned up dead in the Hudson, but like any of the charges against Kozlov, they were dropped and Kozlov walked. When Kozlov was leaving the station, he had waved at Edward and McCarty, and actually laughed at their efforts. From that moment on, Edward had been secretly digging around and collecting a case against him for five years. He had nothing substantial, nothing that would put him away for good, but he was patient. He would wait. Kozlov, Whitlock, even Yorkie…Edward was starting to see something of a connection, but he was still missing the bigger picture. He supposed he needed Whitlock for that.

The phone in his pocket began to vibrate. He pulled it out to see who was calling at this hour, but the number was private. Edward frowned as he answered it.

"Edward Cullen," he said, his voice flat.

"I see you've done some digging on my behalf," the voice on the other end mused.

"Speak of the devil."

"Speak? Really? I didn't hear you say anything. Although 'think of the devil' doesn't have the same ring."

Edward's face flushed with anger. Somehow Whitlock was still listening in on his office. Earlier in the week he had done a quick sweep for more bugs or a camera, but he came up with nothing. Obviously he had missed it.

"What do you want?"

"Haven't had your morning latte, I see. A little grumpy, Cullen?"

Edward swiveled around in his chair, his eyes sweeping out the window to the buildings across the street. He scanned the windows, looking for movement, and then he saw it. Whitlock was across the way, standing on the roof top of the building across from him.

"High profile office buildings have their downfalls," Whitlock said through the phone. Edward squinted and could see he was holding up a cup of what he assumed was coffee. "You should stick to black stuff, you're getting a little soft around the middle, especially if you miss another morning workout."

"Fuck you," Edward growled into the phone.

"I told you not to swear on my account."

Edward bit back another retort. "What do you want?"

"So many things." Whitlock chuckled. "But all in good time."

"Is there a point to this phone call, or are you going to make it a habit to ruin my day?"

"I'm just checking in. Noticed you haven't been sleeping. And you haven't delivered that 'show in the shower' you promised me." Edward could hear the smile in his voice, and he clenched his fist around the phone. He wanted to hang up and for a split second he almost did, but he knew Whitlock had something to do with Kozlov and he couldn't bring himself to end the call.

"You want to hang up on me," Whitlock's voice drawled out. "It's okay. I'd want to hang up on me too, but then there are so many questions, aren't there, Cullen? So many answers you want."

"Fuck you."

"If you play your cards right."

"Is this amusing you? Are you amused, asshole? Cut the shit and tell me why you're calling." He couldn't help himself. The anger this man caused in him was endless. He hated cursing, and yet, he couldn't stop the expletives from leaving his mouth when he was speaking to Whitlock.

"Not on the phone. And not in your office. We both know how easily that place can be bugged."

Edward gritted his teeth. He ran his fingers through his hair, and turned back to look out the window at Whitlock. The rooftop was empty. "Then where?"

"Rector Park, eight o'clock. I'll bring coffee."

And just like that, Whitlock ended the call, and Edward was left with his mouth hanging open, wondering what the hell he was getting himself into.

Edward glanced at his watch. He had thirty minutes to get there, and somehow he knew this was another one of Whitlock's tests. He sat back in his chair, breathing deeply. Why was he letting Whitlock do this to him? He had him jumping through hoops and he had no idea why. Edward had made detective quicker than anyone in his graduating class. Detective First-Grade not long after that, and it was fine by him. He didn't want to supervise, he had no desire to go the root McCarty did. McCarty was promoted to Sergeant, and then continued to move up the ranks. Twelve years on the force and McCarty was a Captain. It wasn't unheard of, but it definitely was uncommon. Edward never wanted the titles, didn't need them, he was a good cop. No, an excellent cop, and he was an even better investigator.

He sought out high-claim insurance frauds, thefts. He did some bail-bond stuff, but only the big ticket ones. They had to be worth the effort or he left them alone. He did none of that spousal stuff like so many of his colleagues. Edward was high-end. His skills and his name allowed him to be. His clients came to him because he respected their privacy, and he didn't have to go through sticky red-tape that a cop would never be able to avoid. He never let any of his cases slip through his fingers. He had a reputation, one that was proudly earned without the help from his father. So, why did he feel like such a failure when it came to Whitlock? And why all of a sudden?

He looked at his watch again. Six minutes had passed. It was definitely going to be tight now. He glanced down at the file on his desk. Pictures of Kozlov's suspected victims were spread out. Gunned down, murdered, there were too many to count at a brief glance, but Edward knew the number. Sixteen. He knew every one of their names and faces too, and these were only the ones he could trace to New York, given the man's history there were bound to be a lot more.

Edward grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and sprinted out of his office, nearly colliding with Alice on his way out.

"Thought I'd come in early," Alice said, not looking up. "You haven't been—Whoa! Where's the fire, boss?" Her eyes were wide, and her hands were full with coffee cups.

"Can't talk. Call you later," Edward yelled over his shoulder and ran into the elevator, pressing the lobby button several times.

The truth was, he admired Whitlock as much as it pained him to admit it. The guy knew his stuff. The guy was good, better than him. Edward wanted a piece of that.

**-.-.-**

EDWARD SPIED WHITLOCK UP ahead, leaning against a row of park benches. He had one boot resting on the concrete curb, while his backside was to him, and his wide shoulders filled out the brown leather jacket he was wearing. Whitlock had chosen a good location, the park was small and quiet, and at this time of the day not a soul was around. It was nestled in Battery Park city, but most people never even knew it existed. The sun hadn't reached this part of the city, and it probably wouldn't hit the park for a few hours still. It was isolated, and for a moment, Edward was apprehensive about being here with Whitlock.

He hadn't seen him yet. Edward could still back out, turn around and forget all about this man who set his nerves awry. He thought about it, and was going to leave, but just as he made a move to go, Whitlock caught sight of him and turned toward him, waiting. Edward resigned himself to the meeting, and willed his feet forward. He shoved his hands in his pants pockets, and tried to fend off the chill of the morning. His suit jacket was buttoned, but he wasn't about to let Whitlock know he was cold.

"Here," he passed Edward an iconic blue-and-white cardboard cup, "I got you a coffee, just the way _I _like it. Real men don't drink the shit you drink."

"Have you ever tried it?"

"Why the hell would I want to try it? If it ain't broke, don't fix it, and this here coffee ain't broke."

"That's the first time you've let your accent out."

"What can I say, you do something to me." Whitlock looked him up and down. Edward felt the chill and forced himself not to shiver. He took a sip of the black coffee instead, trying to hide his discomfort.

"So what's this about?" Edward said, grimacing at the bitter taste of the drink. "Are you ready to share what you've got? Willing to ask for my help?"

"Looks like I don't have much of a choice anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look, Cullen, I don't want to work with you. Plain and simple. You're a showboat, and I don't have time for showboats. But you're in this now, and I'll have to swallow my pride and work with you on this, even though you don't deserve it."

"Hey, I've done my time. I'm a good detective. I've earned everything I have."

"Without your daddy's help?"

"_Especially_ without his. You don't know me."

"I know enough."

Edward threw his coffee in the trash can and put his hands in the air. "Fine." He started walking away, but he didn't get far before Whitlock called him back.

"You're going to get a visitor today." Edward stopped short but didn't turn around. "A new client," Whitlock added. He heard the sound of Whitlock's boots on the sidewalk as he came up behind him. He was close, Edward could feel the heat radiating off his body. "Do you know Richard Weber?"

Edward's interest was piqued. He slowly turned around and came face to face with Whitlock. He was uncomfortably close, but he would be damned before he took a step back from him. If Whitlock didn't move, neither would Edward.

"Of course, who doesn't? Millionaire, money on his wife's side. She's involved with a lot of charities with my mother. He runs a private equity firm with a lot of off-shore accounts. For the most part he operates within the law. There's speculation there, but he pays his taxes and gives back to the city. He's not clean, but clean enough."

"He has a daughter."

"Angela. Around sixteen years old? Twin boys too, if I remember."

"Seventeen, and yes, Joshua and Isaac. Two days ago, Weber's daughter went missing. No one's seen or heard from her."

"And she's not the type to run away."

"No."

"So, why would Weber come to me?"

"He's not happy with how the police are handling it, so he's coming to you. He's got a lot of money, and he's going to pay a lot for you to find her."

"Has there been a ransom?"

"No. And there won't be."

"How does this all tie in to you?"

Jasper threw his head back and laughed. "There's the real answer you're looking for." He took a sip of his coffee and waited, eyeing up Edward. "Because I'm pretty sure I know what happened to her. I just can't figure out if it was random, or if there was a meaning to her disappearance."

"You're leaning toward a meaning."

"You are getting better at this." Jasper smirked. "I need you to take the case."

"What's in it for me?"

"Money, of course. Isn't that what you want?"

"I don't care about money."

"Oh, no? That wristwatch tells me otherwise. Everyone gives a shit about money."

"Well, I don't." Edward shoved his hands in his pockets. He was tired of being on the defensive. "You think I'm going to help you?"

"You will."

"Forget it, Whitlock. I loathe you. I'm not helping you." Edward turned his back on him, and started to walk away. He would take the case, but it would be on his own terms, not on Whitlock's.

"I have something you want," Whitlock called after him.

"I doubt it." Edward waved over his shoulder.

"Kozlov." It was all Jasper had to say to make Edward stop dead in his tracks. "And just so we're clear," Jasper said, "we'll be doing this my way."

Edward started to laugh as he turned back around. "Your way? Sounds like you need me more than I need you."

Jasper stood still with a passive expression, like he knew the truth behind Edward's words, even though the real truth was that they needed each other, but Edward wasn't about to admit that.

"I don't work well with others," Edward said.

"Neither do I."

The two glared, neither of their gazes wavering while they both tried to read the other. From the corner of his eye, Edward could see Whitlock's stance. It was poised to fight, but then it always seemed like the man was ready for something.

"You're special forces," Edward said. "Aren't you?"

Jasper relaxed and let out a low chuckle. His lips turned up into a smirk while he folded his arms. "Something like that."

Edward nodded. "Huh, something like that. If we're going to work together, we've got to trust each other."

"I don't give my trust easily."

"And neither do I, but we'll have to start somewhere."

"Then, how about you start with the Weber girl, and we'll see where we go from there."


	5. Chapter 5

**~*Chapter 5*~**

EDWARD HELD A GRIN of satisfaction while he rode the elevator up to his office. He shouldn't have been smiling, a young girl was missing, but he was finally getting the break he needed, even if it meant working with the one person he despised enough to make his blood boil. Jasper had shared what little information he had, though Edward knew he was holding a lot of it back, but it was enough to confirm the suspicions Edward already had about Kozlov. He was up to much worse stuff than Edward had speculated. Trafficking. And not the kind he had originally thought. Humans. Kozlov was moving people. Young girls to be exact. Except this time, he picked the wrong girl, or maybe she was the right one. That was what Whitlock wanted Edward to find out. If his suspicions were correct, Weber was involved deep with Kozlov and his daughter was payment for a deal gone bad.

The elevator doors chimed open and he expected to see Alice's smiling face through the glass doors, but her desk was empty. He inwardly cursed, knowing what he'd left out on his desk in haste as he ran out of the office. He sighed, and walked through his mahogany doors to find Alice sitting on the couch, her face was paler than usual and he could see fresh streaks on her cheeks from her tears. She held pictures in her hands. Dead bodies, mutilated and tortured.

"Alice," he said under his breath.

"What…" she said. "What is this?"

"I told you I wanted you to take some time off."

"Did he do this? He killed all these people?"

"More than likely."

"You can't go after someone like this. Not on your own, Edward." She looked up at him, the terror filled her eyes.

"I'm not. I know who Kozlov is. I don't plan on doing anything stupid."

"Don't you think these people thought the same thing?"

"Alice." Edward took the photos out of her hands and set them on the couch beside her, face down. "I'm going to put this guy away, for life. He has to be stopped."

"And why do you think you're the one to do it? Why can't we go back to the art thefts and the insurance claims? It's a nice way to make a living. No one dies while you do those things. There were no mutilated corpses!"

"Because if I don't take down Kozlov, no one can. The police, the feds, they can't touch him."

"Promise me, Edward. Promise me you won't go after him."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?" She sniffed and wiped her eyes. Her hands were shaking.

"Because this time, he's gone too far. He's trafficking girls, Alice. Young girls, not even eighteen yet."

"H-how do you know?"

"Whitlock told me, and he's not some backwoods hotshot like I thought. Hillbilly, maybe, but he's special forces, Alice. Or was, I don't know. He wants my help."

She stared doe-eyed while she processed what he had just said.

"In a few minutes," Edward said, "Richard Weber and his wife are going to walk through that door. I need you to get yourself together. After this, you can take all the time off you need, in fact, I insist. But today, I need you. Their daughter is missing, and Whitlock thinks she was taken by some of Kozlov's men. She's seventeen, Alice. Seventeen. They'll keep her drugged until they figure out what to do with her. If they get her out of the country, she's as good as dead. Worse actually. She'll be sold, sexually exploited and no one will hear from her ever again." Edward grabbed hold of Alice's arms. He was gentle but it caused her to look him in the eyes. "He's a monster, Alice. He has to be stopped."

She nodded while Edward pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe her tears.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'm sorry." She searched out his eyes. "You know I don't get emotional. I try not to get involved. But we've never done anything like this, or you've never told me about it. I know you do things. I know you use your gun, it's just, it's…"

"Not like those photos."

"Yes," she said, "not like those. I want to help. I've met Angela once while I was with your mother. She's a sweet girl."

Edward pulled her into a bone crushing hug. He kissed the top of her head, and whispered his appreciation. He encouraged her to get cleaned up before the Weber's arrived, and it wasn't long after she had done as he asked when a tastefully, well-dressed, distraught looking couple walked through the front doors.

"Thank you for meeting with us, Edward," Mr. Weber said, as Edward guided them into his office toward the leather sofa. "By now, you've probably heard from your parents what's happened."

The truth was, Edward was surprised he hadn't heard from his parents. It had been two days since the girl had disappeared, and he was sure his father would have been informed right away. It was a high profile case with extenuating circumstances, they would want to keep it out of the news.

"Angela's missing," Edward said. He didn't want to lie to them, he needed to gain their trust, but he didn't want them to know his parents hadn't trusted him with this information. "You want my help."

"Don't get me wrong, I know the police are doing everything they can, but this is…_my little girl_. You understand, don't you?" Mr. Weber said, clenching his fists. "I will do anything, _anything_, to get her back."

"I know, Mr. Weber. Can we get you and your wife something to drink? Water, coffee, perhaps something a little stronger? Alice?" Alice had been patiently waiting beside Edward. The couple's anxiety was playing on her nerves. The Webers might not have been able to tell, but he could. He needed to give her something to do, hoping she'd relax enough to help ease the couple's worry.

"Whatever you have will be fine," Mrs. Weber said. Her eyes were glassed over, and Edward was certain she was taking something for her nerves. Alcohol might not have been the best thing for her, but he wasn't about to deny a grieving mother anything. Alice returned, holding a mug of coffee and went straight to Edward's hidden panel and topped up the woman's coffee with whiskey. When Alice handed the glass to Mrs. Weber, she held on to Alice's hand, and made her sit beside her. This was why Edward needed Alice. He needed Mrs. Weber to feel secure, hoping a woman would understand what she was going through. This was something the police could never do.

"Please, forgive me," Edward said, "but I have to ask. What makes you think she didn't run away?"

Mrs. Weber took a drink of the spiked coffee, swallowed hard, like it was stuck in her throat. "Angela picks the boys up from school every day. We always suggest a driver for them, to pick her up at her school and then take her to the boys, but she likes the walk through the park. She adores those boys and they adore her. She does it every day, and never once complains. Two days ago, she left her school like any other day, but she never made it to the boys. They waited, but she never came. She would never do that, not to them."

"Did anyone see anything? Any of her friends. Did they see her get into a vehicle?"

Mrs. Weber shook her head. "No, nothing. The police are canvassing the neighborhood and all of her classmates, but no one saw anything."

"It's a waste of time," Mr. Weber cut in. "They won't find any leads."

Edward's alarm bells started ringing. "Why is that, Mr. Weber?"

"Look, you know damn well what kind of business I run." He stared at Edward with his mouth set firm in a line. "I've made some enemies over the years, I'm not a saint. I never…" He gasped. "I never believed it would touch my family." He looked away, and his wife moved to grip his hand. She gave him a tender squeeze which Edward deduced she was well aware of the type of businesses he ran. How could she not, Edward thought. How else did they pay for their house on the Upper East Side, and private schools for the children. She had some money, but not enough to sustain that lifestyle. She turned a blind eye to his dealings, as long as she saw the benefits from it.

"I'm going to need access to all of your business transactions. Clients, accounts, everything. And I'm going to need a list of these so-called enemies you may have made over the years. Anything you can think of. I'm also going to need to know your involvement with any illegal activities."

Mr. Weber's head snapped up and his face dropped at the idea of handing everything over to Edward.

"I'm not being hired to investigate you, Mr. Weber. You're hiring me to find your daughter, that's why you came to me. Anything I find is strictly confidential. Unless it has to do directly with your daughter's disappearance, and then we'll take it from there on how we want to proceed. My priority is Angela, nothing else, but you're going to have to be honest with me if we're going to get her back." Edward didn't want to mention Kozlov in front of Mrs. Weber, or the idea of human trafficking. There was no point in adding to her frantic state, at least not until he had some concrete evidence. He would speak with Richard Weber later, in private.

"Thank you," Richard said, and held out his hand to Edward. "I came to you, because you're the best I've been told."

"I am," Edward said, completely confident in his answer.

.

IT WAS ONLY A few minutes after the Webers left when Edward's cell phone started ringing.

"The best?" Whitlock laughed into the phone. "That's a little presumptuous."

"We're going to have to do something about you bugging my office."

"I'm not bugging it, I'm listening in. There's a difference."

So that was it. That was why Edward couldn't find any traces of electronic devices in his office. The guy didn't have anything in his office. Which also meant the guy had access to some high-tech equipment, some very expensive, high-tech equipment.

"You're still an asshole."

"Never said otherwise."

"Why are you calling if you heard everything that was said?"

"Now come, Cullen. I know you're not tired of hearing my voice."

"List—"

"Uh-oh…" Jasper interrupted him. "Looks like you've got another visitor."

"What?" Edward said into his cell phone just as Alice paged him.

"Mr. Cullen, the _Commissioner_ is here." Edward could hear the strain in Alice's voice as she tried hard not to laugh.

"Shit," Edward mumbled, and he heard Whitlock laughing as well.

"I'll be in touch," Whitlock said and ended the call.

**.**

THE NEW YORK POLICE Commissioner was a formidable man. He was older than he looked and some would say he was one of the most handsome Commissioners the city had ever had. Despite his angelic appearance, Edward knew he was a hard-nosed cop, raised on the streets and the blue was deeply entrenched in his blood. His family was NYPD all the way down to the man's great-grandfather. He lived and breathed it, and he too was good at his job, took it very seriously.

The Commissioner was a huge pain in Edward's ass.

"It's been a long time, Commissioner," Edward said. "Have a seat." He gestured to the sofa.

The Commissioner moved around the room, eyeing up all of Edward's possessions. He was staring at the bookcase and a few of the photos. His finger lightly graced the one of Edward and his father.

"I think I'll stand."

"Of course you will," Edward mumbled under his breath.

The Commissioner's head snapped around and Edward knew he was itching to say something to him, but the man took a deep breath and stayed silent.

"Something to drink?" Edward asked.

"On the clock."

"So, what brings you here?"

"You know why I'm here."

"I haven't done anything lately that would warrant a visit from the Commissioner himself, so can't say that I do."

"Hitting an officer doesn't ring any bells?"

"Oh, that?" Edward grinned. "Right. Clearwater doesn't count. That kid has lots of people who want to hit him."

"Why are you so interested in the Yorkie case?"

"Yorkie? Nope, that definitely doesn't ring any bells."

"Edward." The Commissioner sighed. "Don't fight me on this."

"Two way street, _Commissioner_."

"I know you had a visit from the Webers." The Commissioner walked closer to Edward's desk, standing right in front of it. "They've hired you to find Angela, haven't they?"

"I can't discuss ongoing investigations with you. Have to protect my client's interests."

"You need to drop the case, and that's an order." He placed his hands on his hips.

"You forget," Edward said smiling, "I don't take orders from you anymore."

"Listen, Edward, we don't need your vigilante crap on this."

"You know that's not what I do." He leaned toward the man, his jaw clenched.

"No, but the copy-cats that follow you around do." He pointed his finger at Edward. "You are to stay clear of this one."

"I can't do that."

"It's final, Edward. Or do I have to arrest you for interfering in this investigation."

"I've been hired to find the girl. It's not my fault this might be wrapped up in your own case."

"Don't push me."

"Just protecting my client's interests."

"Right, your client's interest. You need t—"

"Dad, look." Edward let out a huff and put his hands on his desk, palms flat. "I won't step on any toes, and if I do, you can arrest me and take everything I've got on this case." It wasn't often Edward referred to the man as his father. They tried to keep it strictly professional while they were both on the job, but when the arguments got heated it was difficult to keep emotions aside.

Carlisle Cullen had that look of disappointment Edward had seen so many times. One would think he had grown accustomed to it. The two never saw eye to eye, and the problem wasn't that Carlisle's shoes were too big to fill, it was that Edward preferred another style. He was different than the rest of the men in his family that had put on the uniform. They were 'yes' men, which wasn't to say a bad thing, it just wasn't Edward's way. He had too much of his mother in him. Headstrong and didn't like to be told what to do. If Esme Cullen had been the type to follow orders, Edward never would have been born.

His mother came from a long line of wealth. Real "old money" they called it in New York. The last thing the socialites like the Pratts would do was allow their only daughter to marry a blue collar cop from Brooklyn. But Esme was in love and had set her sights on Carlisle, and she didn't give up easily. Her parents did what any rich blooded American family does when their offspring disobeys them, they cut her off.

Carlisle and Esme were still happy without her parents' support. Times were tough, and it took a while for Esme to get used to the change in lifestyle, but they loved each other enough to make it work without the help. Even when Carlisle's career was on the fast track, her family kept their distance. Carlisle was a blue blood, and no movement in rank would change that to them. It wasn't until Edward was born did her parents eventually come around. They put all their aristocratic hope into their grandson, wanting and expecting him to carry on the family name, and Edward wanted for nothing growing up. They spoiled him, while his parents desperately tried to keep him humble. Edward may have looked like a Cullen, but he had more of the Pratt blood in him than his father would have liked. He was strong-willed to say the least, and tried hard to fit into both worlds, which wasn't exactly easy.

Growing up in Brooklyn with a silver spoon in your mouth put a bright, red target on your back, and Edward resented his grandparents for that among other things. He never understood why his mother allowed them back into her life after they had abandoned her. It was a grudge he carried inside of him but never allowed his mother to see. At least not until Edward had received his early acceptance to Harvard. His grandparents couldn't have been more proud of him that he had decided to follow their path and not the path of a Cullen, so much so, that when he turned eighteen, they gave him his inheritance seven years ahead of schedule. The same day Edward cashed the check for his financial future, he mailed two envelopes: a rejection letter to Harvard, and an application to the Police Academy.

No, headstrong did not even begin to describe Edward and his mother.

"Son," Carlisle said in a solemn tone, "a girl's life is at stake."

"Exactly my point. We should be doing everything possible to find her. And it's been over forty-eight hours. You know how this goes down. More time passes, the less chance we have of finding her. So we can stand here and argue about who I'll be pissing off, or you can let me do what I'm good at."

His father sighed deeply, running his hand through his hair. It was one of the few traits they did share. Edward saw the glint of his father's ring. The Cullen family crest, his great-grandfather's ring, the ring he knew he'd never wear.

"You make one wrong move, just one, or impede this investigation in any way, I'll have you locked up so fast your head will spin. Are we clear?" He was pointing his finger at Edward. His mouth was set in a firm line, while he flared his nostrils. The two stood across from each other silently speaking volumes with their eyes. Edward loved his father and respected him. It didn't mean he had to like him.

Edward nodded, and muttered his acknowledgment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, then." Carlisle turned to the door and then stopped. "Your mother wants you over for dinner on Sunday. It's been too long since we had Sunday dinners with your grandparents."

Edward started to protest.

"It's non-negotiable."

Edward mumbled a curse.

"What was that?"

"I said, '_Yes, sir_.'"

"That's what I thought."

Edward was left to wallow in his office. He hated that his father could make him feel like a little boy each and every time they spoke. He was a grown man, and could make his own decisions, but there was something about Carlisle Cullen that no matter how old or how successful Edward was, he couldn't question him. Carlisle's word was always final.

He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and answered without looking at the number.

"Looks like your daddy's got you wound up real tight." Whitlock's familiar chuckle rang through the earpiece.

He had to figure Whitlock would be listening in, but at this point, it was just plain rude to disrespect his privacy.

"Daddies do have a way, don't they, Cullen? Especially when they're the Commissioner."

With his phone to his ear, Edward turned to the window. He figured Whitlock would be on the rooftop again.

"Are you in the vicinity of a point?" He spotted him, exactly where he was before. He was still dressed in his familiar garb; faded worn-through jeans, a plaid shirt and his 9mm on his hip. The sun glinted off the man's belt buckle and Edward's eyes landed on those damn boots of his. He was every bit a modern day cowboy.

"I reckon you two are going to come to a disagreement one of these days."

"Listen, Tex, I'm—"

"I don't appreciate that name." Whitlock's voice was threatening, and it took Edward by surprise.

"What? Tex?"

"I _said,_ I don't appreciate that name."

"What are you going to do? Shoot me?"

"Say it again and I will."

Edward paused a moment, wondering exactly what Whitlock would do. It amused Edward that he had _finally_ found something that could get under Whitlock's skin. He seemed rattled, and even though Edward couldn't make out the expression on his face, he could hear his heavy breathing over the phone. The man was definitely on edge, but just how far he was, Edward wanted to know.

"Tex." Edward said it just under his breath, and he watched in slow motion as Whitlock pulled his sidearm. A second passed before the window in Edward's office shattered into a million pieces.

Edward ducked, screaming into the phone.

"Jesus Christ! Are you insane!"

"I gave you fair warning," Jasper said. "Although I am a man of my word, I thought it best I didn't shoot you. I still need you."


	6. Chapter 6

**~*Chapter 6*~**

EDWARD'S FINGER POKED THE hole in the drywall left behind by the bullet. It had lodged itself into the concrete underneath the surface of the wall. He was inclined to leave the hole there, a memento of sorts from a man who definitely did not give empty threats. Whitlock was a wildcard, and being told what to do was hard to swallow for Edward, but he was discovering with Whitlock he didn't have much of a choice. The window repair men in his office were evident of that.

"We're just about finished up, Mr. Cullen. Just sign this and we'll be on our way." The building manager handed Edward a clipboard with some release papers to sign. The man looked up to the bullet hole above Edward's head, but didn't say anything further. It was a shame he wasn't able to bullet proof the outer windows like he had the glass in his lobby, but the building manager's discretion was costing Edward a small fortune as it was. Not that he minded, it was better than calling it in and having his father back in his office. He didn't want to explain how his window got shot out, it was bad enough trying to calm Alice down. She still wasn't convinced Jasper had done it, she thought Edward was lying to protect her from the truth, that it was Kozlov's men who'd shot out the window.

"If it was Whitlock, then the man's insane, and you should take out a restraining order on him, not agree to work with him! He's lucky no one was hurt. The glass in the alley alone!" Alice's voice was a few octave's too high for Edward's liking. He winced as she continued to berate him.

"Sshh, Alice." Edward raised his hands. "Calm down."

"Did you just shush me?" Her hands were on her hips and she actually stomped her high-heeled foot. "The man shot at you!" she shrieked. "Because you called him Texas!"

"Tex," Edward whispered.

"What?" Alice cocked her head.

"Tex. I called him Tex."

"What difference does it make! The man is not stable." She went off on a few tangents about non-New Yorkers, and gun-toting people from the South thinking they were at the O.K. Corral, but Edward tuned her out after she mentioned something about pistols at dawn. His mind had wandered to the cocky jackass who had the balls to actually do what he threatened. There were many times Edward had wanted to shoot at someone, but in truth, he never had. He'd pulled his weapon more times than he could count, but had never fired off a round. He'd never shot a live round outside of the shooting range and he wondered, when the time came, could he? He had no doubt Whitlock was the type of man who never hesitated. Edward could only hope he wouldn't be either. Jasper Whitlock might very well be insane, but Edward had to revere a man who followed through on his word.

He truly didn't want to work with him, but he had no idea where to begin with the Weber girl, and Whitlock held the key to that. Edward had contacts, but they were few and far between in the human trafficking world. It was something he'd never really come across on the job, and a part of him was thankful for that. Edward could go the usual route, pouring over files and financial records and canvassing witnesses which would take time. He was certain Angela Weber didn't have that kind of time, so after Whitlock had shot at him, Edward reluctantly agreed to meet him for a drink, hoping they could forge a working relationship for the sake of the girl.

"Alice," Edward interrupted her tirade when she reached the second amendment. "I don't like the guy any more than you do, but we're going to have to suffer through it for a while. Despite our better judgments, the man _is_ here to help. And we both know if he was aiming for me, he would have hit me." Edward tried to bite back a laugh.

"This isn't funny, Edward," she said, pouting. "Not only do I have to worry about you and Kozlov, I have to worry that Whitlock might 'Walker, Texas Ranger' you."

At that point Edward did laugh and he pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. "I love you, Alice, and I promise Whitlock will never Walker-Texas-range me again, okay?"

She sighed, but didn't return his hug, instead she left her arms hanging loosely at her sides. "Fine. But from now on you have to tell me where you are at all times, especially if you are with him. I have no doubt he knows how to dispose of a body without anyone finding out."

"Kozlov or Whitlock?" Edward pushed her back, frowning down at her.

"Both!"

Edward's gut told him Alice was probably correct on that assumption. "All right, then," he said, walking to his desk to grab his coat. "I'm heading out to meet him right now."

She crossed her arms with an impatient sigh. "And _where_ are you going?"

"Jimmy's." He brushed past her and winked. "I'll call you later."

"But you hate Brooklyn!"

**.~.**

IF THERE WAS ONE thing Edward hated more than being told what to do, it was going to Brooklyn. He never left Manhattan if he could help it. All of his clients were there and so were his parents now, so there wasn't much need to cross the river. Brooklyn made his skin crawl. It was a walking stereotype for New York cops, particularly Irish ones.

His father still had a lot of ties to his old neighborhood, and that was partly the reason he hated going to Brooklyn. Edward couldn't step foot in the borough without his father knowing it. He would never be like his father, he had too much of the Pratt side in him, and the people where his father and grandfather grew up liked to remind him of that.

If Edward was unsure if Whitlock had done his research on him, he was certain when Whitlock told him where they were to meet for drinks.

Edward entered the dingy bar, and instantly regretted it. This was still his father's bar, no matter how far Carlisle moved away or moved up in the ranks, his presence was always felt here. Edward took off his sunglasses and came face to face with his father, well, a younger version of him anyway. He had forgotten about the photo, but he always stopped short when he saw it. He looked more like his grandfather than he did Carlisle, and his namesake was smiling down at him, dressed in uniform, and in his arms he held a laughing Carlisle. Even as a young boy, Carlisle's eyes seemed to judge Edward.

"Well, go on, look what the cat drug in here. In that fancy suit and all."

"Hi, Jimmy," Edward said to the man behind the bar. He was bald with a few wisps of grey hair around his ears and his teeth were stained yellow from years of tobacco use. He was a big man, large around the middle, so that when he laughed his whole body shook. Which was a good thing, for every year since Edward could remember, Jimmy donned the red suit at Christmas and asked all the neighborhood kids what they wanted in their stockings. Jimmy was a legend in the borough, and not just because he'd been serving Irish whiskey to cops for generations. No one was sure how old the man was. He was a permanent fixture in Brooklyn, a walking Irish stereotype, and he kept the peace better than any cop could.

"What brings your lily white arse to my town? I know it's not to see me. You never do that no more." Jimmy wiped pretend tears from his eyes and then finished wiping the bar, signaling for Edward to sit down. The bar was empty for the most part. It was late in the afternoon, and Edward had a few hours before the regulars filtered in. A few hours before he'd be forced into some awkward conversations.

"What makes you think I didn't come for you?" Edward asked, refusing a glass of whiskey but taking the seat.

"There was a time when I had to chase your under-aged arse out of here. You remember that though, don't you, Eddie?" Jimmy was the only person who could call him Eddie, and Edward didn't seem to mind it. It was what Jimmy called his grandfather, so he felt a kinship when he heard the term of endearment coming from the man.

"Now you never come visit me no more. Not since those Pratts turned you into this." He waved his hand over Edward's attire.

"Oh, yeah? And what's that?" Edward's refined dialect always regressed a little in front of Jimmy, like it couldn't be helped when you crossed the bridge.

"A right prat if you ask me, fancy pants." Jimmy frowned and threw the towel over his shoulder. "They've turned you against us. I thought you had more of your father and your grandfather—God rest his good soul—in you." Jimmy made the sign of the cross and kissed the one that hung around his neck. He was a devout Catholic, like Edward's father, and like most of the people around here, they went to church every Sunday. Edward didn't, but Jimmy never held it against him, unlike his own father.

The old man was a good judge of character, came with being a bartender, and he was usually never wrong about a person. If Jimmy said something was off with someone, then something was off. You trusted him. Men had been known to bring girlfriends in to see Jimmy, and would send them packing based on his verdicts. If a man was unsure, he didn't bring a girl home to meet his mother, he took them to meet Jimmy. If Jimmy approved, a ring was soon to follow. Rumor had it that was how his father proposed to his mother. She got the Jimmy OK, despite their social differences.

"Kid, I guess you got more of your mother in you. It's not often I say this, but I was wrong."

"You and I both know I'm the milkman's."

Jimmy laughed, nodding his head. "To be sure, if you didn't look exactly like the man." He pointed to the picture of his grandfather. "You're a Cullen, whether you like it or not. And we all know you don't."

Edward felt a pang in the pit of his stomach. For a moment he was ashamed by Jimmy's comments. His grandfather was a good man, and Edward had loved him dearly. He was proud to be a Cullen, he just had his own way of showing it. He cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. "Nah, Jimmy, you weren't wrong. I just like to piss off the old man to see how far I can push him."

Jimmy made another sign of the cross, and then laughed out loud. "Well, you do that to be sure!"

Edward looked around the bar, nothing had changed much since he'd been here last. A few new pictures, some tributes to the fallen. Jimmy had a wall dedicated to the lost lives from 9-11, but Edward had been here for that. He was just a rookie then, still in his blues. He and McCarty had been stuck at the Port Authority while the others were at the towers and in the streets. His father had ordered them to stay behind and help filter the calls. Maybe that was why he held so much animosity for his father, but it was tough to say where it all stemmed from.

"Yup, nothing's changed," Jimmy said, reading Edward's mind. "Not that I don't love seeing your mug, but what really brings you here? You got that look, Eddie, like something's eating you up from the inside."

"Just a case I'm working on."

"Must be big to bring you down here."

"The Weber girl."

Jimmy sucked in air, and his eyes shifted around the bar.

"What have you heard?" Edward was wary of the old man's nerves.

"Not much." He shrugged and reached for an already clean glass to wipe down.

"You've heard something."

"Nah, just rumblings is all." His eyes looked around the bar again. "You best leave that one to your pops, kid. If you know what's good for you, Eddie."

"_Eddie_, here, doesn't know what's good for him. Never has, I bet." Whitlock sidled up to the bar and patted Edward's shoulder.

Edward felt a tingle down his spine, full on contempt for the man, he was sure of it for his jaw was clenched tight. He shook it off and reluctantly began the introductions.

"Jasper Whitlock, this is Jimmy the Mick. Jasper. Jimmy."

"Hiya, Jay," Jimmy said smiling. He poured the man a shot of Tequila.

"Hey, Jimmy."

"Wait. You two know each other?"

"Jay's a regular here. Doesn't drink much, but he's good conversation. Better than you."

Edward's blood started to boil again. His rage was endless when it came it Whitlock. The man was insufferable, weaseling his way into all facets of Edward's life. There was nothing sacred with him. He turned around on the bar stool toward Whitlock. "Trying my life on for style? Is that it?"

Whitlock laughed and threw back the shot of Tequila. "I believe you haven't stepped foot in this place for a... what is it, Jimmy?" Whitlock smiled at the old man.

"Oh, now let me see. Two years, 'tree months and eleven days."

"Hear that? Two years, 'tree' months and eleven days, Cullen. I'd say this place was no longer a part of your life."

Edward took a deep breath and counted to ten. If he hadn't needed Whitlock, he would have decked him right there. He continued to count on to twenty, needing the extra seconds.

"Listen, Whitlock—"

"You just love starting sentences with that." He laughed. "Like you're about to offer me some sound advice, but then," he shrugged his shoulders, "you never do."

"Fuck you!"

"So predictable."

Jimmy was watching their exchange with a careful eye, and when Edward jumped off his bar stool and launched himself at Whitlock, Jimmy picked up the soda hose and sprayed the two of them with soda water.

"None o' that in here, fellas. You want to tussle and roll around on top of each other, you do it outside or behind closed doors, not in my bar."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Jimmy?" Edward grabbed the towel off his shoulders and started to wipe down his face. He was appalled by the water and appalled by Jimmy's comments.

"Oh, you know damn well what I mean by that, kid. You can't fool ol' Jimmy. You two go in the back and get yourselves cleaned up. And take care of whatever business you came here to take care of. Too many ears and eyes in this place for my liking."


	7. Chapter 7

**~*Chapter 7*~**

JIMMY HAD GIVEN EDWARD the keys to his office, and expected the two of them to stay there in until they "sorted themselves out," whatever he meant by that. Edward chose to ignore the Mick's comments, preferring to keep his head safely buried in the sand. He would have to address Jimmy's insinuations at some point, but ignoring it seemed to be the best option right now, especially with Whitlock breathing down the back of his neck.

Edward unlocked the door, waiting for Jasper to walk through it.

"After you," Edward said, gesturing to the office.

"No offence, but I don't turn my back on anyone, especially not you, Cullen."

"Well, neither do I." Edward raised himself up, standing to his full height which was still an inch or two shorter than Jasper. He gripped the doorknob tightly, indicating to Whitlock he wasn't going first.

"Guess we got a problem then." Jasper smiled and folded his arms.

"Aw, would you two just shut up, and get in there!" Jimmy came around the corner shaking his head. "I've cause to box both yer ears in," he said when neither of them budged. He hitched up his belly over his belt buckle. "Seany," he called out to the old man sitting at the bar, "get me Bridget."

Edward gritted his teeth, and blew a deep breath out through his nose. "Jimmy."

"Seany!" he yelled, ignoring Edward's tone.

"Who's Bridget?" Jasper asked.

Edward heard the stool from where Sean was sitting slide out, and he also noticed how eerily quiet the bar had turned. Letting out a huff, Edward walked through the doorframe conceding to this small battle. He chose the seat with the best vantage point, refusing to give up that easily on his war against Whitlock. He rolled his eyes at the man's smug grin when he walked through the door looking satisfied.

"You've obviously never seen Bridget," Edward said with a caustic glare. Whitlock snorted but shook his head no. "Well, she's one S.O.B. who delivers a hard blow."

Whitlock gave him a dry look as if to say he wasn't afraid of any woman, and then the look went on to say only Edward would cower from a woman's hit. Edward chose to ignore the looks, but only after he flipped him the middle finger. It was uncharacteristic of who he was today, but being in this office was bringing out some of the attitude he'd repressed so many years ago.

"Play nice, boys," Jimmy said, throwing towels at each of them and slamming the door shut, sealing them into the small, confined and clustered room.

Whitlock looked around, his eyes darting over the pieces of history all over the room. It was obvious to Edward he had never been back here. He could at least revel in that. Jimmy didn't let just anyone back here, and Edward was glad he had that over Whitlock. This was Jimmy's private space, and the only people he allowed in here had to be considered family. Edward had been in here many times while growing up, and when he reached his precocious adolescent years, Jimmy had locked him in here for his own good more times than Edward could count. This office had been his holding cell for a lot of hours, like it was death-row while he waited for his father to come fetch him. Edward was never as bad as some of the punks he hung around with, but he had felt his fair share of blows from Bridget, enough to know that when Jimmy asked for Bridget, he sure as hell meant it.

Shrugging, Whitlock leaned against the oak roll-top desk that was older than Jimmy. The office was messy, but in an organized way. There were filing cabinets along one side of the wall which were covered with stickers and drawings from his grandchildren. In the corners of the room were stacks and stacks of yellowed newspapers. Jimmy kept the ones where something big happened in the city worth remembering. Along the other wall was a large bookshelf which held picture frames and other New York paraphernalia. Jimmy was a bit of a hoarder when it came to things about his city, and throughout Edward's childhood, he was constantly filling up his shelves with new trinkets and memorabilia from his beloved New York. It was one of the reasons Edward loved coming back here, to see what new things had been added. At a quick glance, Edward noticed there was only one thing on his shelves which was newer than 2000; an ash-covered fireman's helmet. It sat in the middle of the shelf looking out of place and dwarfing everything else on the shelves. Edward felt a lump in his throat for the man he thought of as a second father. When the towers came down, something in Jimmy broke and he'd never been the same since.

"So why here, Whitlock?" Edward said. "Why this bar?"

"What can I say?" Jasper said. "I like the atmosphere."

Clearing his throat, Edward stowed his emotions away for now. "No one likes the atmosphere here."

"It's around the corner from my place." He crossed his long, lean legs in front of him, resting his hands on the desk on either side of his body.

Edward snorted and said, "You want my life? I was right, you do have a thing for me." Edward meant it as a joke, but he saw Jasper flinch, if only for a second.

"You'd like that wouldn't you?"

His cheeks flamed from the suggestion. If only the asshole knew, but he'd never give Whitlock the satisfaction of knowing that bit about himself. There were only four other people in the world who did and Edward was damn sure it was going to stay that way.

"You bring it all on yourself," Jasper said. "You do realize that, right?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Your isolation."

Edward's mouth dropped open at Jasper's incredulous statement. "For someone who seems to be stalking me and infringing on my life, you're one to talk."

The corner of his lip turned up as he eyed Edward. "Stalking is such a harsh word, Cullen, and I'm a stranger in this city. You've grown up here. What's your excuse? Your friends are still here, they just gave up on you. Get turned down one too many times, and sooner or later you stop asking."

"You should write greeting cards."

"I should, shouldn't I?" Whitlock grinned.

"Whatever, Whitlock. I'm perfectly happy where I'm at."

"Sure you are."

"Look, asshole—"

"There you go again," Jasper said, chuckling and shaking his head.

"I don't need someone as messed up as you to tell me what's wrong in my life."

"Yes you do."

"All right then, fine. You think you have me pegged, go for it."

Jasper bent his long legs and then straightened them as he stood up, pushing away from the desk. His movements were slow and deliberate as he sat on the opposite end of the faded green, leather couch.

"You've thrown yourself into your work, shut everyone out of your life. You like people to think it's because of what happened when you lost your badge, but that's only part of it. You've pushed everyone away because you don't want them to see who you really are. What you really want."

"Enlighten me." Edward rolled his eyes. "What do I want?"

"Someone like me."

Edward laughed; a deep, rich laugh. "Oh, right. So, I want a closed off, narcissistic asshole. Not too sure how many women fit that role. At least I haven't come across any."

"That's because it's not a woman you want."

"What? You're delusional..." The word 'Tex' was on the tip of his tongue. He had almost used it, and felt the thrill of it spread throughout his body at the idea of seeing Whitlock that angry again, but back here in Jimmy's office was not the place for it. He'd save that one for later. Edward leaned back on the couch and crossed his ankle to his knee. "Have another drink."

"You love men," Jasper said. "You want to suck dick, and you don't know what to do about it." Edward stared at him but kept his face impartial while Whitlock went on with his accusations. "Tell me you haven't thought about it before."

"If I have," Edward said drolly, "you're the last person I'd be sharing that with." Truth was, he did like men, and he did know what to do about it, he just wasn't offering anything up to Whitlock that easily.

"I'm right." He winked at Edward.

"How do you figure?" Edward shifted in his seat, not sure if he was ready to have this conversation, at least not in here, so close to his past.

"Take for instance that assistant you've got working for you."

"Alice? She's like a sister to me. I don't think of her that way. I couldn't."

"Precisely my point. Any straight man would be fucking that hot little piece of ass if she looked like that." Whitlock made a crude gesture indicating exactly what he would like to do to a girl like Alice.

Lunging across the couch, Edward grabbed hold of Whitlock's shirt with two fists. "Don't you ever talk about Alice like that. Ever. And you keep your filthy hands off of her." The rage was boiling just below the surface. Whitlock was still managing to push all of the right buttons.

He broke off from Edward's grip, and smoothed back his long blond hair, then adjusted his shirt. He raised his hands and was smirking. "Wouldn't dream of it." He shrugged. "She's not my type."

"Not your type? I doubt that."

"Does she have a dick under that tight skirt I don't know about?"

Edward's expression didn't change, but inside he was a mess of emotions. That was the last thing he had expected to come out of Whitlock's mouth. He was messing with him, he knew it. Somehow, through all of Whitlock's research on him, he'd found out about his past. He was goading Edward into a confession which better men had tried to get from him. He was no stranger to interrogation methods, and wasn't about to admit anything to Whitlock. He was starting to see through everything Whitlock was throwing at him, and he wasn't going to fall into another emotional trap and give him this.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Edward said, his voice was calm and even, deeply contrasting how he was feeling.

"Then she's not my type."

Rolling his eyes, Edward said, "Are you trying to tell me you're—"

"Yeah, I am."

"You," Edward scoffed. "How?"

"How?" Jasper laughed.

"I mean, you're military, Special Forces. They don't let—"

"No, they don't. Not openly anyway. Dishonorably discharged is a nice way of putting it."

"I don't know what you're trying to play at, Whitlock, but I'm calling bullshit."

"You doubt me?"

Edward avoided looking the man in the eyes. This was another test from Whitlock. Why? He didn't know, but he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of falling for the ruse. "Whatever, Whitlock. I don't give a shit what floats your boat. You do guys? Fine by me. Just stay the hell away from me, and keep your dick in your pants when you're around me."

"I only told you so you'll think about trusting me. We need to work together."

"What does whether or not you screw guys have anything to do with this case?"

"Some honesty between us."

"Well, that's a little too much if you ask me."

"Why'd you give up your badge? You threw away your entire career, and no one seems to know the real reason. I showed you mine, now it's time to show me yours."

"Hardly, this isn't Kindergarten." It thrilled Edward to know there were some things Whitlock didn't know about him, and he was going to keep it that way.

Jasper shifted his body across the leather sofa, coming closer to Edward like he really was stalking him. His eyes narrowed in on Edward's lips. "You need me to prove it to you?" His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Want me to show you how hard you make me?"

The air in the room sizzled all around them as Jasper inched his way closer to him. The scent of Whitlock was all around him. He didn't wear cologne, at least nothing Edward recognized, but there was a distinct musk of leather and man. Edward had a difficult time swallowing. He hadn't moved from his spot, but his heart was pounding all the way to his ears, the blood was ringing in them, and he couldn't deny the one simple fact... Whitlock's words had made him hard. He licked his lips waiting in anticipation to see what Whitlock, the man he hated, was going to do. He could feel his breath on his cheek, and just when Whitlock leaned forward to close what little distance remained between them, the man pulled back and let out a raucous laugh.

"I proved my point." Whitlock slid across to the other end of the sofa. With one corner of his mouth turned up into a half-grin, he said, "You wanted it, Cullen." He glanced down to Edward's groin where the evidence spoke for itself.

Edward saw red, but being his father's son he chose to count to ten instead of launching himself at the man who was laughing at him. He was through with letting this hillbilly get under his skin, and this experiment of Whitlock's was nothing more than another means to an ends to get the upper hand with Edward. He wouldn't fall prey to his taunting again. Being in Jimmy's office had only proved to Edward just how far he'd come from being the angry, pissed off little boy he used to be. He was much calmer now, self-assured and well respected, and he wouldn't let Jasper Whitlock destroy everything he had built up around him.

"Whitlock," he said chuckling. "I get hard at the feel of my gun pressed up against my cock. I'm always horny. I can assure you it has nothing to do with you. I'm a little more refined and less judgmental than most, so I wasn't about to shame you for telling me you like to stick it up a man's ass for fun. I was brought up with manners and without prejudice. And I couldn't give two shits if you're gay or not." Edward stood up, and shifted his sidearm on his hip to help prove his point. "Like I said," Edward placed his hands on his hips, pushing the edges of his jacket behind him. "Whatever floats your boat..." he paused for effect and then decided to give the man a taste of his own medicine, so under his breath he added, "_Tex_."

It only took one of Edward's breaths to watch the man's face change from an amused picture of serenity to one of moral outrage. The look in Whitlock's eyes turned feral, and he shot up from his seat, tackling Edward around the waist slamming him up against the filing cabinets. He had hit him with such force, one of the cabinets toppled over and the sound of the metal hitting concrete echoed around the room hurting his ears. All of the air in Edward's lungs expelled when Whitlock's shoulder rammed into his chest and he struggled to grasp a breath. He couldn't even react to his ferocity, it all happened too fast for Edward to comprehend the severity of Whitlock's blows. The only thing he could do was raise his hands to protect his head as Whitlock starting swinging wildly.

Edward threw himself at him to avoid the blows, and the two of them tumbled to the ground, rolling on top of the other as each of them tried to get the upper hand. Edward was still recovering from the loss of breath, and was having a difficult time trying to best the man. He knew he got in one good blow when Jasper's teeth sliced across his knuckles as his fist connected with his mouth. But it was short-lived and before he knew it, Jasper was on top of him, grabbing a hold of his shirt collar. He pulled back his fist, and then it smashed into Edward's face. He felt the crunch of his nose and tasted the blood in the back of his throat. He was sure Jasper had broken it when the rush of excruciating pain shot up past his eyes and out through the back of his head which slammed against the cement floor. Jasper raised Edward's shoulders up off the ground a second time, and Edward braced himself for the next blow he knew was coming. Just as Jasper pulled his fist back, the door swung open, banging back against the wall with a crash. Jimmy's massive form filled the frame of the doorway. His arms were raised up to one shoulder holding something in his hands, and when he stepped into the room, Edward's eyes opened wide in shock realizing what it was.

"Jasper," Jimmy said, twisting his body back to the right, "meet Bridget." He swung his arms, hitting the Louisville Slugger across Jasper's back and the weight of Jasper's limp body fell across Edward knocking another breath out of his lungs. He saw stars and nothing else.


	8. Chapter 8

**~*Chapter 7*~**

ALICE STEPPED THROUGH THE elevator doors and stumbled over a long pair of legs. The legs moved, and as she started to fall, she felt arms reaching for her. It was early, but she was alert just like Edward and Rosalie had taught her. She didn't even look at her attacker, instead she remembered her self-defense training Edward had made her take when she first started working for him. She stepped back onto her attacker's foot with her Louboutin heel while delivering an elbow jab to his solar plexus. It was only as she swung she realized the height difference between the two of them was much greater than what she was used to with her sparring partner, and her elbow ended up connecting with the man's groin. He let out a loud groan as he buckled over falling to the floor. Alice inwardly squealed at her luck, but didn't waste any time reaching into her bag for her taser—another gift from Edward. She whipped the thing out of her bag, pushing the charge button as she cautiously walked toward the man who was now curled up in a fetal position holding his hands between his legs.

"Alice," he gasped, rolling on to his back so she could see his face. "It's me."

Her eyes bulged as her brain caught up to the sound of the man's voice. "Whitlock!" She all but screeched his name. "You scared the bejeezuz out of me." She powered down the taser, while her other hand went to her chest to feel the rapid beats of her heart. "You just about got a few jolts of electricity for good measure."

"Please," he said, groaning, "between you and your boss, I don't think my body can take anymore."

It was then that Alice noticed his puffed up, split lip and the fresh purple bruise on his chin, and as he started to get up, she could see he favored his right side quite a bit, which definitely couldn't have been from her. He adjusted himself, coughing, and she could see the strain in his neck muscles from the obvious pain he was still in.

"It really hurts that bad?" Alice asked, a little more curious than she should have been, given that she'd just put her training to use for the first time.

"Yes, mam," he moaned, "I can assure you, when you get hit in the nuts—excuse my vulgarity—and you're not expecting it, it hurts real bad." He took a deep breath, and she noticed the color in his face was returning to a more normal pallor.

"Huh," she said. "And I always thought you men faked it."

"No, mam."

"Mam? Do I look like a mam?" Alice raised herself up to a threatening pose, like she was ready to strike again.

Jasper threw his hands in the air and took a step back. "No. No, I suppose not."

She looked down toward his boots and noticed two little bags and a tray with three coffee cups in it. She eyed the goods he had brought, and then slowly turned her attention to him and his split lip. She crossed her arms, while leaning on one hip.

"Atonement? What did you do this time?"

"Just a lover's spat." Jasper gave her a smile while he leaned down to pick up the tray and bags. She heard him grunt and saw him wince from the pain he was obviously feeling in his ribs.

"And that?" She pointed to the side he was nursing.

"I met Bridget last night." Jasper said it without any emotion, and a full minute stretched between them until Alice finally saw the hilarity of it all. She started to laugh and couldn't stop.

"I always thought Bridget was a myth. Edward used to tell me stories about her, but I never believed sweet, ol' Jimmy would ever take a baseball bat to Edward, or anyone else for that matter."

"Oh, she's real, all right, and I've got the bruised ribs to prove it. And Jimmy is anything but sweet."

Alice moved toward the glass doors, and leaned down to pick up the newspapers in front of them. "Come on," she said. "We can heat up the coffee. You'll probably be waiting for a bit before he turns up."

"He's in there," Jasper said. "He's passed out on his couch."

"Edward doesn't do 'passed out.'"

Jasper shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say? I have that effect on him."

"Mmhmm." Alice dug into her purse looking for her cardkey. "Why didn't you just pick the lock like the last time?"

"Darlin', it isn't 'picking,' and besides, I'm trying to get him to forgive me. Breaking in is a bit of a sore spot with him, and I'm pretty sure this time he would have shot me."

She opened the door and her nose was assaulted by the smell of alcohol and greasy food.

"Oh, yeah, he definitely would have shot you." She threw down her bag on her desk, said hello to her fish and walked over to a panel in the wall. Sliding the door open, she grabbed a Kevlar vest from it and threw it to Jasper. "In fact, I think he still might."

.

IT WAS ALMOST AN hour by the time Jasper and Alice finished cleaning up the office. The horrible smell was from a number of empty beer bottles, along with a wide variety of fast food takeout boxes and potato chip bags that were littered throughout the front part of the office. It looked like Edward had thrown a party here, but Alice knew he'd done nothing of the sort. It was all him, and she knew that by the fact that every bit of food from each of the different restaurants had only one bite taken out of them. She had seen this behavior once before, and it was right around the time the mayor had been re-elected for a second term. She had come to work and stumbled upon this exact same behavior. Remnants of every known kind of junk food lay scattered around the office, only his drink of choice at the time had been Bourbon. She didn't know which was worse, the beer or the Bourbon. She threw the last fried chicken bucket in the trash and felt her stomach heave a little at the amount of grease that was in the trashcan.

"Here," Jasper said lifting the bag from her grip, "I'll take that to the shoot."

Alice surveyed the room and it looked like everything was back to normal, the smell still lingered but it would until she managed to go to the store to get some air fresheners. Neither she, nor Jasper had ventured into Edward's office, and she didn't want to even think about what might be behind his doors.

"Do you think it's safe to go in there?" Jasper asked from behind her.

"I think it's best we wait for him to come out."

"Does he do this often?" Jasper sat on the edge of her desk. "Seems a little odd, doesn't it?"

"With Edward, everything is odd." Alice sighed and sat back in her chair. "I've never worked for someone like him before. He's one in a million. He's a pompous, over-bearing, uptight, arrogant, entitled, pig-headed jackass." The look in her eyes was distant, but her smile was warm and dreamy. "But he's also the most giving, protective, caring and big-hearted person I've ever known. He's my best friend, and I love him." Her eyes met his. "You must have really struck a nerve with him. The death by food and booze act has only ever happened once before in the four years I've known him. Edward is all about control. His entire life everyone wanted to dictate how it was supposed to turn out. They wanted to mold him into what they wanted him to be. Control, or the illusion of control, is everything to Edward. The man is a machine, and every part of him is well-oiled to run smoothly. He controls the machine, and you, Mr. Whitlock, wrenched out one of the cogs in Edward's machine."

"That seems a bit dramatic, Ms. Brandon."

"Did you even notice that only one bite was taken from everything we picked up? The man never eats any of that crap. Never. Edward has always denied himself the things he wants most."

Jasper stood up and stretched his arms to the sides and did a turn in the room. "I'd hardly call this denying him anything."

Alice was annoyed and waved her hand at his ignorant comment. "This is just stuff," she said in a huff. "It's just money. Edward doesn't give a flying fig about money."

"So, the guy wants a BigMac, so why doesn't he just eat a BigMac?"

She gave him another disgusted look. "It's not about the BigMac either. You know, just forget it," she waved her hand at him again, "why am I even trying to explain it to you. You wouldn't understand it, you don't know him." Her words carried a menacing glare with them that could easily be mistaken as a threat. "Why are you even here, anyway?"

Jasper's face was expressionless, and Alice could now see the military side of him Edward had told her about. Whitlock could be friendly and helpful, but only when it served his purpose. He had shut himself down from her, and there was a coldness in his eyes that wasn't there before. Alice could almost feel the chill of his glare from across her desk, but as quick as the icy breeze came, it vanished the instant he gave her a wide grin and all trace of the military was forgotten.

Whitlock reached over to the little blue bag on the corner of her desk. She had recognized that shade of blue when they were in front of the elevator. Raising a skeptical eyebrow, she bit her thumbnail waiting for him to pull out whatever was inside the bag.

"I came by to apologize for scaring you the other day. You know," he said, "when I shot at the window." He lifted a square, blue box with a white bow from the bag and placed it in the palm of his hand. "For you."

Her eyes went wide and she knew they were lit up, just like they always did whenever she saw that shade of Tiffany blue. "Really?" She jumped up from her chair and reached for the box. "For me?"

Opening it, she saw it was a necklace, a platinum chain with a matching solid pendant in the shape of a cross. It held one single diamond in the center of it.

"Whitlock! I can't take this from you!" She knew exactly how much it had cost him, she'd had her eye on it for a few months, and she wasn't about to take that kind of money from a man like him. Edward would kill her for a start.

"Please, I insist." He looked to her neck where the cheap, tarnished, silver chain hung. She'd been meaning to replace the cross an old boyfriend had given her a few years back, but she'd never gotten around to it.

"I figured it was classy for a woman like you, yet simple enough to wear it every day. Promise me, you'll wear it every day. It would make me happy, Alice, and it would let me know you forgive me." He smiled and lifted it from her hands to place it around her neck. "You're right, I don't know Edward or you, or understand either of you, but I want to try to."

There was something about the edge to his voice which made Alice think his apology wasn't as sincere as he had wanted it to come across. Something about all this seemed wrong to Alice, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Jasper," she said, touching the necklace. "I really can't—" Before she could finish her sentence the doors to Edward's office swung open and out walked a clean, showered and refreshed Edward. It wasn't what Alice had been expecting. She had fully intended to see a disheveled man with orange cheese stains on his undershirt and red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. With everything cleaned up in the office, one would never have even known anything ever went down last night, well, apart from Edward's swollen nose and the two black circles under his eyes.

"Alice," he said and stopped short when his eyes landed on Jasper and his close proximity to her. Alice held her breath as she watched Edward's face turn a few shades brighter, indicating his rage, and then she saw the betrayal in his eyes when they landed on the little blue box. "What the hell is he doing here? And what is that?" He pointed to her new necklace.

"Jasper came by to apologize."

"Take it off," Edward said through gritted teeth.

"The necklace?"

"Now, Alice," he yelled and Alice jumped.

She felt her own face grow warm from his treatment of her. She wasn't a child and didn't deserve his anger, having done nothing wrong.

"How dare you!" she said, and walked around her desk to come face to face with Edward. "It's a gift."

"Not from him it's not. Off!"

"You're not the boss of me. You can't tell me what to do!"

Edward gave her a wry look, and stood up straight, glaring down at her.

"Well, okay, fine. I work for you, but you can't tell me what I can and can't wear."

"I can in this office. I'm enforcing a new dress code. No jewelry!"

Alice scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Stop acting like a child."

Edward placed his hands on his hips, his chest was puffed out and his mouth was set in a firm line. Alice made a move to mirror his own stance, and even though she was a foot shorter than him, she was just as intimidating in her heels with her chin raised up to him.

"Don't forget, Edward Cullen, I pick up your dry cleaning, not to mention I have keys to your condo and I know most of the passwords to your computer. I even have access to your _Knicks_ tickets for the season," she said with a devilish glint in her eye.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, believe me, I would." Her voice was low and sinister. "Don't push me. Or unlike Whitlock, I'll actually break that nose of yours." Alice waited for him to say something, his eyes were zeroed in on the necklace and she saw the flush in his cheeks as he tried to swallow his anger.

"It's just a gift, Edward, get over your ego." Alice spun on her heel and returned to her desk. She didn't have to see his face to know his mouth was hanging open in shock. He wouldn't dare say something back to her and she knew it. To the right of her she heard Whitlock stifling a laugh, and she turned on him with a warning as well. "And I suggest you shut your trap. If you're going to work with us, you should eat some humble pie, or otherwise you can take your fancy gifts and get the hell out of this office."

"Yes, mam."

"What did I say about the 'mam' thing?"

Jasper cleared his throat. "Yes, Ms. Brandon."

"Now, you two, scoot. Get out of my sight." She waved her hands toward Edward's office. "There's not enough room in here for the two of you and your adolescent pride." Edward's deep-seated blush didn't escape her attention and for that matter, neither did Whitlock's. Edward walked back into his office without saying a word, and Whitlock made a move to follow him.

"Oh, and Whitlock?" Alice said, catching him before he walked through the doors. "Thank you for my gift. I love it." She placed a hand to her necklace and gave him a wide smile, in turn he nodded before shutting the door to Edward's office.

.

EDWARD WAS STANDING WITH his hands behind his back in front of the window—the same window which had been replaced the day before. It was his familiar place to stand, overlooking the park, especially when he needed to think. After coming to in Jimmy's office, Edward left, refusing to let Jimmy take a look at him and the damage that had been done. He didn't' even care how Whitlock was, he just needed to get away from his past, and from Whitlock, clear his head and get control of his emotions and who he was reverting back to. He needed things back on his terms. Being foolish and reckless with his emotions, was something he never did anymore. The last four years were spent mastering his temper, especially after hitting the mayor in public. He never let anyone see that side of him anymore, well, not until Whitlock anyway. After a heavy night of indulgence, Edward had come to one conclusion: Whitlock would not be the one to undo him. Better men had tried and failed.

"What is it about you?" Edward said, with his back still to Jasper. He had surpassed being angry with him. Late in the night, he had realized it would do him no good to be at constant odds with Whitlock. Alice had just reminded him of the resolution he made to himself and she didn't even know it. He would suffer through this until they found Angela Weber

"My C.O. used to say the same thing. I tend to piss people off, I suppose."

"That's an understatement." Edward took a deep breath and sighed, but still didn't turn around. He watched the cars moving below on the street, which he often did. Up here, they looked like toys he could reach out and grab. He didn't like heights, but like everything in his life, he tried to overcome his fears, and confronted them head on, which is why he bought the office space on the twenty-first floor. It was a matter of control, his own, and he wouldn't let anything or anyone own him. Probably one of the reasons why he had such a difficult time with Whitlock, he couldn't figure the man out. Jimmy had been right about one thing, rolling around on top of each other had helped Edward work out a few things. If anything, the fight was needed between them. Sometimes men needed to slug it out, and beat the crap out of each other to come to an understanding. Edward was certain the two of them had done that last night. He could tell by Whitlock's demeanor and the stillness in his voice that they were on the same page now. "Do you just push until someone breaks? Is that how you operate? Because I can assure you I won't break."

There was a moment's pause and Edward wondered if Whitlock was still there.

"Cullen," he took a deep breath, "I guess I owe you an apology."

"I don't need or want an apology."

"Well, if it's all the same, I will." Jasper cleared his throat, and Edward imagined that was his signal to get Edward to turn around, but he didn't. "I've never come across someone like you. You're an anomaly in my world."

Edward could relate.

"I shouldn't have done what I did." Jasper continued. "I shouldn't have baited you. I was trying to get a rise out of you..." He cleared his throat again. "I mean... I wanted to see how far I could push you."

Edward finally did turn around with his hands resting on his hips. He was curious about Jasper's admission from last night, and whether or not the man really was gay, but he sure as hell wasn't about to ask him. He wouldn't give Jasper the satisfaction of knowing he was interested in the answer. For one, he didn't believe the man was gay, but it didn't matter, Jasper Whitlock would never be someone he'd get involved with. Edward despised the man too much to ever consider what it would be like. And two, Edward's life was private, and only the people he trusted knew that side of him, and Whitlock would never be one of them. So instead, he ignored his curiosity about Whitlock's sexuality and said, "Nice test."

"Yeah, well, you passed... I didn't."

"So, you're saying I have more control than you." Edward was grinning.

"I'm saying I underestimated you. There's a difference." Jasper returned Edward's grin, and asked, "So, we good, then?"

"Almost."

Jasper raised an eyebrow directed toward Edward. "What? You want to hug it out?"

"Why? You want to try and kiss me again?"

Jasper's cheeks flushed a little as he brushed a piece of hair behind his ear. "You're not my type."

"I thought Alice wasn't your type."

"She isn't, but neither are you."

"How has no one shot you yet out sheer aggravation?" Edward started to laugh.

"Who says they haven't?"

"It wouldn't surprise me." Edward shook his head. "I know my life would be much easier if I had."

"I suppose it would." Jasper relaxed his shoulders. "Is this us having a real conversation? A little honesty between partners?" He moved to sit on Edward's sofa, but before he sat on the Italian leather, he made a gesture which asked for Edward's permission.

Edward nodded and was surprised by Whitlock's change of behavior. The arrogance was still present, but the cockiness had been quelled. Edward took a step closer to his own desk, and gripped the back of his chair. "So, we're partners then."

"If you'll still have me."

"Are you going to tell me why that nickname bothers you so much?"

"Probably not."

"I see, so not too much honesty between us, then."

"You going to share the real reason you were kicked off the force?"

A muscle ticced in Edward's jaw.

"Cullen..." Jasper sighed. "You and I aren't friends. I doubt we ever will be even after all this is over. And that's a very private and personal story. I've not shared it with anyone, and I sure as hell ain't sharing it with you. Let's agree to move on and forget all the games. I've already apologized, and I meant it."

Edward made sure not to reveal the shock he was feeling. He had his own share of secrets and he could understand the need to keep them to one's self. If Whitlock could keep his word, so could he. "I can do that."

"I won't ask about the badge, as long as you don't use that name with me again."

"Never again." Edward touched his tender, bruised nose, which was thankfully not broken like Alice had guessed. He'd managed to go his entire childhood without a busted up nose, he definitely didn't want one as an adult. "Jimmy called." Edward eyed up Whitlock, wondering if he had something to say about last night, but Whitlock remained quiet. "How are the ribs?"

"I've had worse," Jasper said, rolling his shoulder and sucking in air.

"I don't doubt that either. That bastard knows when to pull back so he doesn't break them." Edward laughed. "He gave me a few names to check out."

"I've got one, too."

"All right, then," Edward said. "We've wasted enough time with our stupid egos, let's save a girl's life."

"And put a bastard behind bars."


	9. Chapter 9

**~*Chapter 9*~**

THE TWO MEN STEPPED out of the elevator and into the underground parking garage in Edward's building. Edward tried not to be upset at the idea of Jasper parking his car in his building, he wasn't going to let anything minor, such as this, bother him. Over and over he told himself to be the bigger man. Everything Whitlock did was done to purposely provoke him, of that he had no doubt, and parking his car down here in the private lot was just another way to get under his skin, even if they had called a truce.

Jasper insisted they take his car, and he led the way through the parked vehicles toward the attendant whom Edward knew by face not by name.

"Javier!" Jasper greeted the man, extending his hand to him. "How's my girl?"

"She's just fine, Mr. Whitlock." He wiped his hands on the cloth he was holding before he clasped Jasper's hand. "Been washed and waxed, like you requested."

"Ah, good man. Thank you."

Javier leaned over and grabbed the keys that were hanging on one of the numerous key-filled hooks. Jasper caught them as they went sailing through the air toward him. He swung them around his index finger and his smile seemed to fill his entire face. Nodding his head toward the corner of the parking garage, he started walking to a set of stairs Edward had never ventured down.

Edward bit back the retort which was on the edge of his tongue. Instead, he took a deep breath and in a level and even tone asked, "How do you know the men in my parking garage?"

"Who, Javier?" Jasper gave him a curious look. "I met him and his son about a month ago. Nice man and they do one helluva job on my car. How do you not know them? They're here every day."

In his head, he was screaming at this bit of information Jasper had just given him. _Every day._ Whitlock was here every day. But that wasn't the most astonishing thing about what Whitlock had said. "There's a car wash down here?"

Jasper gave him another puzzled look. "Cullen, for someone who prides himself on his line of work, you sure do suck when it comes to observations. The lower level has a full detailing service, and reasonably priced for what they do. You'd think as an _Executive _you'd take advantage of these perks your expensive high-rise has to offer." He led them to the stairwell and they travelled down to a level Edward knew existed, but had never visited. They walked through the door and came out to an open area where there were a number of cars parked, all looking shiny and well preserved, including the company car he had given Alice last month. The yellow Porsche had been washed and waxed, and it almost looked like it was grinning at him. He desperately tried to control the rage he was feeling. He didn't like to be bested, and that's exactly how he was feeling, a little betrayed to be more precise which was what he convinced himself instead of having to admit he was a fool.

Whitlock let out a low whistle and Edward followed his gaze, settling on a monstrous, silver beast of a vehicle with obscene custom wheels with chrome rims. Edward watched Whitlock gently run his hand over the hood with just a whisper of a touch. It seemed almost provocative, the way he caressed it, and Edward looked away before he had a chance to imagine all kinds of things reminiscent of that gesture.

"They do nice work," Jasper said. "Don't they?"

"_This_ is your car? This."

"Yeah, what of it?"

"I should have known," Edward mumbled.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It _means_ you're a walking stereotype. You _would_ have a muscle car."

"As opposed to what you drive?" Jasper rolled his eyes.

"What's wrong with my car?"

"Nothing, for a man like you."

"A Vanquish is a beautiful car. It's a work of art."

"This here," Jasper's hands hovered over the roof of his car, "is an _American_ work of art. A 1970 Hemi 'Cuda. Not some foreign, over-priced piece-of-shit like you drive." Jasper unlocked his door and swung it open. The interior was all detailed in black leather and held only two bucket seats with cam-lock harnesses.

"I'm not getting in that," Edward said, and crossed his arms. He was trying with Whitlock, he was, but he drew the line at this.

"Stop being a baby and get in. Live a little."

"I'm an adult. You're clearly nothing more than an adolescent who's afraid of growing up. I've never had some 'Dukes of Hazzard' fantasy I've felt the need to act out. And I'm not about to start."

Jasper ducked down and folded himself into the car in one fluid movement. Edward's stomach did a flip and he felt his cheeks start to get hot, not to mention another part of his anatomy was also starting to heat up as his mind replayed the image of Jasper getting into the car. He moved without effort, even with his long, lean legs, and Edward briefly wondered where else his actions would be that graceful and smooth. He cleared his throat, and ran a hand over his chin to hide his discomfort.

Jasper smirked as he glanced down below Edward's belt. "You sure about those fantasies?"

"Fuck you." Edward adjusted his jacket and then shifted his hands over the bulge when he wasn't sure what to do with them.

"Fuck me? Nah, I don't bottom. And for the record," Jasper said, "the General Lee was a Charger, this car... is not." He shut the door and grinned at Edward through the closed window.

Edward stood in the same spot for a few breaths. He chose not to acknowledge Whitlock's dig and what it implied, knowing he said it only for shock value. The guy couldn't help himself, Edward was beginning to realize, truce or not, it was just who Whitlock was. However skirting over his comment did nothing to settle Edward's predicament. He was grateful his pants were loose enough not to make it uncomfortable.

The window rolled down. "Get in," Jasper said. "I have a reputation to uphold. We're not taking your car."

"What about my reputation?"

"Cullen, your reputation went to hell four years ago when you decked the mayor and sold your badge for a ten thousand dollar suit. If anything, this car will give you some street cred."

Edward walked around the hood of the car with his jaw clenched and his nostrils flaring. He was trying to uphold his pissed off attitude, even though, secretly, he was somewhat intrigued by the car, and possibly the man in it. He even went so far as to wonder if Whitlock would ever let him drive it.

"Not a chance."

"What?" Edward said, as he slid into the passenger seat, and tried to maintain his cool composure.

"I know that look in your eye. And it'll be over my dead body before I let you drive this car." He started up the engine and the parking garage erupted with a deafening rumble as he gunned the engine. "Feel that? So much power underneath your ass."

"Only you would know."

"Somehow I doubt that." Jasper turned to grin at Edward.

"Shut up and drive."

"As you wish." Jasper shifted the car into drive and peeled out of his spot, and the sound of the tires screeching mixed with the roar of the engine echoed through the garage as he drove up the ramp to the upper level.

"Real mature, Whitlock."

Jasper laughed but kept his foot on the gas pedal. He honked the horn as they sped past Javier and his son before pulling out onto the street.

"You're going to kill someone! You're such an ass." Edward had to almost yell to be heard over the engine.

They drove two blocks north before Edward asked where they were going.

Jasper answered his question with another question. "You have a picture of Angela with you, right?"

"Yes, why?"

"There's a woman I know of who might help us, for the right price." Edward heard the doubt in his voice.

"That's a pretty big might."

"It is."

"Care to elaborate?" Edward tried to leave the frustration out of his voice, but as ever, it was proving difficult. This is what Whitlock did. He purposely kept stuff from Edward to annoy him, and it always seemed to work.

"She used to turn tricks."

"Used to."

Jasper turned right on to Rector and then took another right on heading South. They were doing a loop and Edward knew exactly where they were heading. He groaned at the idea of going back to the one place he didn't want to go. He'd seen enough of Brooklyn this week to last him for a few months.

"She's retired now and runs a restaurant in Brighton Beach. She knows things. She's well connected."

"I take it she's Russian?" Jasper nodded his answer. "So, she's a Russian Jimmy," Edward said.

"Yeah, something like that."

"How do you know her?"

"I don't, but she knows a contact of mine who said she might be willing to help us. You have any cash on you?"

"Some. How much is this going to cost me, exactly?" Edward asked as he shook his head.

Jasper took his eyes off the road and turned to Edward with a solemn gaze. "Does it matter?"

They stared at each other for a breath, both saying what needed to be said without any words.

"No," Edward said. "It doesn't."

Jasper turned his eyes back to the road, just as they entered the tunnel. They continued to drive in silence through the tunnel, until Edward finally got up the nerve to ask the question which had been on his mind since Jasper had first come to see him.

"Can you answer me one thing?" he asked.

"Depends." Jasper shrugged.

"Why you? Why are you so interested in this?"

Jasper's grip tightened on the wheel, but other than that, everything else about him seemed unaffected by Edward's question.

"That's a long story, not one for this ride, and I can't really share a lot of it with you, but in short, I know Kozlov or men _like_ Kozlov. He's one man in a sea of monsters. And Kozlov ain't exactly Russian, he's Serbian to be more precise."

"Serbian? Like, from Bosnia, as in the war? You weren't in the—but you would have been—" Edward wasn't sure if he had heard him correctly, and once again, Whitlock had surprised him. "You were seventeen when that war _ended_."

Jasper shifted uncomfortably in his seat, remaining silent for a moment as though he was thinking something through and then Edward saw his expression change. Whitlock had conceded and then said, "Officially, the war ended in '95, unofficially, it went on for years. Putting the right government in place, and building the infrastructure the country needed to function didn't happen overnight. And a part of that was bringing the men responsible for the genocide to justice. I was twenty when my team was sent completely off the grid." He gave Edward a brief smile. "Of course, it's all classified. I doubt there's even records of our time there. It was a helluva way to get my feet wet, so to speak."

"No kidding," Edward mumbled. He sat stunned for a moment, and then things started to make more sense to him: Whitlock's closed army records; his access to high-tech equipment; how he knew so much about his life; the way he carried himself. It was all from years of deep undercover work. He had now confirmed just how many leagues the man was above him. He let out a laugh, almost from relief. "No wonder I couldn't dig up anything on you. You're a hard man to find."

"Not that hard, not yet, anyway." He wriggled his eyebrows at Edward.

"Would you stop that, please? It's getting old."

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" Jasper had his left hand resting on the steering wheel, while his right gripped the gear shift tightly. He started to stroke it.

Edward scoffed, and turned his head. "You just can't help yourself, can you? Why do you have to be like that?" He stared straight ahead, ignoring Whitlock and his childish behavior. Edward was starting to figure him out. When things got too serious, or when Edward was on the right track about something, Whitlock used his antics to veer Edward off course. Not this time. "So, you're saying… you weren't under the guise of the UN, then?"

"Like I said, officially, yes, unofficially..." Jasper changed lanes to move to a shorter toll line. Once through, he stayed in the lane for the Interstate.

"Take Prospect. It's quicker."

"No it's not."

"At this time of day, it is."

"I'm not getting off."

"No kidding, but who's the one who grew up in Brooklyn? Trust me, get off."

"Are you flirting with me, Cullen?" Jasper grinned at Edward but didn't take his advice and stayed on the Interstate. Edward refused to talk even though he wanted to know more about Whitlock's time in Bosnia. His tenacity was shining bright and proud at this moment though, so they drove in silence for a while, all because Whitlock wouldn't take his advice. As they followed the Parkway and drove around the curve, traffic came to a halting stop. The road was backed up as far as the eye could see.

"You really do need to work on your _trust_ issues," Edward said and smiled.

"Shut the fuck up."

Edward rolled down the window and stuck his head out to try to get a better look at what was up ahead.

"Accident, looks like. Do you have an emergency light? We could try and merge up the side."

"Yeah, and my daddy's not the Police Commissioner, so no, I don't. Besides, I'm not taking the chance and scratching this car."

"Well, then it looks like we're going to be here a while." Edward popped his head back into the car and loosened his tie. The weather had taken a turn from a few days ago, and it was unseasonably hot for early April. Edward was feeling a bit too warm for his liking. He also couldn't help the smug grin that adorned his face. He finally had Whitlock eating crow. Lifting his foot on to the dash, he saw the tic in Whitlock's jaw as he glanced at Edward's shoe on his newly polished dashboard. Served him right, Edward thought. After all, he was just repaying the favor from his treatment of Edward's office. He knew firsthand Whitlock had a temper, but he wondered how far his patience could be stretched without the hated nickname to provoke him. Edward looked at the ancient climate controls in the console. "What? No A/C?" He blew out a breath. "It's going be a hot one."

Jasper turned the engine off and smiled back at Edward. "I'm from Texas. I live for the heat." The smile was thin and fake, and Edward knew he was holding back more biting comments.

The sun was shining directly through the windshield, and the black leather was already starting to heat up. Edward took his jacket off and folded it over his lap. He rolled up his sleeves and undid a few of the buttons on his shirt.

"You going to be all right, Cullen? Wouldn't want to mess up that suit of yours."

"No problem here." Edward's voice was tight. What he wanted to say was that they _should_ have taken his car. For one, they wouldn't be stuck in this traffic, and two, he wouldn't be sweating his ass off in this giant tin can. There were only two places Edward liked to sweat. The gym and in his bed, everywhere else was unnecessary in this day and age.

Minutes passed, sitting in the car melting from the heat. Edward glanced at Jasper and saw the sweat beading on his forehead and his upper lip. The thought of licking it off did cross his mind, but he quickly expunged the idea when Jasper caught him staring at him.

"Fine!" Jasper said. "Just say it."

"Say what?"

"What you're dying to say."

"I doubt you have any idea what I'm dying to say," Edward said.

Jasper cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. He started to undo the buttons on his shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"All right, I concede. It's fucking hot, okay?" Jasper removed his shirt and wiped his brow with the plaid before throwing it at Edward's face. He was left wearing a white wifebeater which seemed to accent every single curve on his torso, but that wasn't his greatest feature. His torso had nothing on his arms. The man was built and cut, just like Edward had imagined. He had a deep tan, which Edward realized must be the natural tone of his skin. It was a definite contrast to his own pale skin.

Edward gulped, something he'd never done in his life before, and he tried not to sniff the shirt, instead threw it back at Whitlock. He needed a distraction and wanted to ask more about Whitlock's time in Bosnia, but knew he couldn't push him. This was the first _real_ thing Whitlock had confessed about his personal life, and only because it tied to the case. Whitlock wasn't going to tell him anything else, not until he was ready to.

As a substitute, Edward turned their attentions to the case, and the two of them discussed everything that still needed to be done and anything they might have overlooked. They talked about the woman they were going to see, and Edward tried hard to concentrate on the conversation, but his eyes kept wandering to the side of his head trying to sneak a peek at the half-naked, heavily-tattooed body sitting beside him. Whitlock's upper right arm was adorned in ink, but Edward couldn't make out what it was without Whitlock knowing he was eyeballing him. He did, however, notice a severe scar traveling from his shoulder to the crook of his elbow which the tattoo seemed to camouflage. It was a serious wound, and asking about it would imply Edward cared how he got it, and he feebly convinced himself he didn't care. His gaze continued down to Jasper's long legs which he had stretched out letting his knees fall open giving Edward another good view of the man. He hung to the left. Edward had no doubt of it. His eyes seemed to be stuck to the side of his head, he tried to peel them away, but they wouldn't move. At least not until Jasper reached down to his jeans and adjusted himself.

"Get a good look?" Jasper said, laughing. "And yes, I'm a leftie."

Edward's face flamed with heat and not from the sun glaring through the window. He felt the warmth start from his gut and spread all the way to the tips of his ears. Luckily he was saved from the moment by the cars moving up ahead on the road.

"Looks like it's cleared," Edward said, his voice completely strained.

Jasper started the engine. "Good thing, 'cause the way you're undressing me, you were going to mess my car, and I just got it detailed."


	10. Chapter 10

**~*Chapter 10*~**

EDWARD HAD BEEN TO the area enough times to know what to expect of the restaurant, and from the outside it didn't disappoint. If Jimmy's place personified an Irish bar where New York Cops hung out, then Kalinka was exactly everything he thought a Russian Restaurant in Brighton Beach would be. The appearance of it wasn't much to look at. Apart from the name, everything else was written in Russian. It was an easy way to keep out the tourists and keep the patrons local. Run down, and weathered with the paint peeling on the wooden sign, Kalinka wasn't a place Edward would ever venture inside. The restaurant and neighborhood weren't his style, but when he walked through the door he realized he was mistaken. It was tastefully decorated and not tacky like he had thought it would be. There was a lot of red, but it wasn't screaming at you like most of the Russian bars in Manhattan. The woman who ran it obviously had style, and the place had a nice clean look to it.

They had timed their visit to arrive in between dining hours to avoid any curious onlookers. Kozlov's ears and eyes had a very far reach, especially in Brighton Beach. The restaurant was empty with the exception of a young kid who looked about fifteen who was busy setting the tables for the dinner service. He looked up briefly, but continued on with his work. Before Jasper could ask him anything, a beautiful blonde stepped through the kitchen doors. At first glance, she looked young and vibrant, too young to manage a restaurant like this one. But as she approached them, Edward saw the depth in her eyes, and the weight in her step as though she carried a heavy burden on her shoulders. This woman had lived a lifetime, even if she wasn't much older than either of them.

She spoke to the young boy in what Edward had assumed to be Russian, and the kid stopped what he was doing. With the nod of his head, he set down the cutlery and left the room.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" Her voice was heavily accented; enough that would indicate English was probably her third or fourth language. She gave them both a once over, not sure what she should expect, especially when her eyes rested on Edward's bruises and Jasper's split lip.

"An associate of ours said you may be able to help us," Jasper offered.

"I doubt you and I have same associate." She laughed at him and crossed her arms.

"Pyotr Charkov."

Her face paled, and if Edward didn't know better he thought her knees might have given out if she hadn't been leaning against the counter. She signaled her acknowledgement with her eyes, and held her finger up in silence. She went through the kitchen doors and was gone for a good two minutes before returning. During that time, neither Jasper nor Edward moved from their spot, nor had they spoken. Her reaction to the name had said everything, and they knew what kind of danger she was in by their visit.

She returned, walking to the front door and turned the lock, essentially sealing them inside. Gesturing to a table, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and sat down.

"He's alive, then." It was all she said before lighting up, and taking a long drag on the cigarette.

"He is. A little damaged, but alive."

She pointed her finger at Jasper. "Any other name, I throw you right back out that door. But Pyotr, well..."

"He said you'd say that," Jasper said, and then went on to introduce the two of them. Her eyes narrowed when she heard Edward's name, she recognized him, but she didn't say anything further on the matter.

"What is it I can do for you?" She took another drag on the cigarette.

"Ms. Markova," Jasper said.

"Irina."

"Irina," Jasper said her name, but it was softer this time. "There was a girl taken." The woman didn't flinch at Jasper's words, like it was a common thing, and maybe it was for her. "American, right here from Manhattan, and we need to find her."

"Only one man be arrogant enough to take girl here."

"Kozlov," Jasper said.

Irina nodded as she stood up and headed toward the bar. She reached around the counter and grabbed a bottle of clear liquid and three shot glasses, all the while still holding her cigarette in her fingers. Nothing was said as she walked back to the table and poured a shot in each glass, not even when she lifted the glass and downed the contents. Edward hesitated until Jasper drank the shot, and then he followed suit. It burned a little, but he knew it was good vodka.

"When she taken?" Irina asked.

"Four days ago."

Irina tapped the table and looked as though she was thinking something through. "You have time."

"How do you know?" It was the first time Edward had spoken up and he was sorry he had. Irina held her gaze on Jasper for a few seconds longer, before turning her attentions to him.

"I just do."

"Ms. Markova, Irina," Edward said, "forgive me if I'm a little skeptical but we're going to need something other than your word. Do you know where she is? Or even who she is?"

Irina's eyes glanced to Edward's right breast pocket, the place where he kept his bill fold. She hadn't looked at Jasper, so she obviously knew who Edward was and what kind of money he had. Jasper and Edward had discussed how this would go down on the drive over. They had stopped at a bank where Edward could withdraw a large sum of money if it was needed, and Jasper had assured him it would be.

Edward reached into his right jacket pocket and pulled out his bill fold, withdrawing a few hundred dollar bills.

Irina scoffed. "Mr. Cullen, you think a few hundred dollars going to solve my problems?" She sat back in her chair and laughed at them.

Edward and Jasper exchanged a look, or more like a signal and then Edward reached into the left side of his jacket and pulled out a thick white envelope and placed it in front of him on the table.

"Five thousand now," Edward said, "and another five thousand if the information turns out to be good."

Irina's eyes lit up, and seemed to dance at the site of the money, but she quickly composed herself and poured three more shots of vodka.

"Ten now," she said, "and ten later."

"Twenty thousand dollars?" Edward asked and shook his head, but his outrage was put in its place when Irina turned her anger toward him.

"I know who you are, Mr. Cullen. I know whose daughter you search for. Twenty thousand nothing to people like you. I should ask for more. But more raises questions. It is my life we talk about. My granddaughter. This give me enough to bring her here, start new life."

Edward swallowed his pride, and was ashamed he had even questioned her. She was right, twenty thousand dollars was nothing to people like him and Richard Weber.

"Fair enough," Edward said, handing the entire contents of the envelope over to her. "Why do we have time?"

"Because transport left six days ago. Your girl not on it. Transport take time to arrange. Money, resources. Not easy to smuggle people like is guns or drugs. People unpredictable." She snuffed the cigarette out in the ashtray. "He also need to build up his supply."

Irina had not said Kozlov's name, but Edward and Jasper knew who she meant.

"What do you mean by supply, Irina?" Edward asked.

"You know what means."

Kozlov would need time to get a new shipment of girls.

"Are they American?" Edward asked before he could stop himself.

Irina's eyes turned venomous as she narrowed in on him. "Why? Girl is girl. Russian girl not matter?"

"Forgive me," Edward apologized. "I didn't mean it that way. I just find it difficult to imagine he's taking American girls and it's gone unnoticed."

"You think it unnoticed?" She laughed again, and lit another cigarette, picking a piece of tobacco off of her tongue. "It noticed. They don't care."

"Who doesn't?" Edward asked, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by Edward how quiet Jasper had become, pensive almost, as he sat and listened to the exchange between himself and Irina.

Irina still laughed as she picked up the vodka bottle, but this time she only poured herself a drink. "You and your Weber don't have enough money to tell you that. They would kill my Katerina. Or worse."

Her silence gave Edward every indication there were some very important people involved in what was happening to these girls. It was the only way Kozlov was getting away it. He'd been known to buy off judges, his reach could easily extend up and beyond that and into Immigration, or even higher.

"Can you at least tell us how it happens? Where are they transported out from?" Edward asked.

Irina shook her head fiercely. "It changes. Never same place. Never same way."

"Where does he hold the girls?"

"No one knows. All different places. Many."

"How long before the next transport?" He was full of questions and kept firing them at her.

"Probably two-three weeks, maybe more." Her eyes had a faraway look to them, something about them seemed dead. In the span of ten minutes it looked as though Irina had aged ten years.

"What does he do with the girls?" Edward said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Depend. No English? They kept here to 'pay off debt' for transport to America." She shrugged, looking down at the white linen table cloth. "American girls go overseas. High premium. If they virgin, they safe. Not touched. Fetch better price."

Edward forced himself to ask the question. "And if they aren't?"

She tore her gaze from the table and looked directly into his eyes. "Let's just say… they like to test merchandise."

Edward mumbled a curse as he sat back in his chair. He glanced at Jasper who hadn't reacted to any of Irina's words, like he wasn't surprised by what she was telling them. Irina poured Edward a shot, and this time he never hesitated in swallowing it all in one go. He was hoping Jasper would say something, but the man sat there silently observing both Irina and Edward. He felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny, couple that with Irina's information, and Edward was once again feeling well out of his league. This went a lot deeper than Edward ever could have imagined, and yet, Jasper wasn't fazed by the news.

"What do you mean by 'paying off their debt?'" Edward asked, turning his attentions away from Jasper.

"Some Russian girls desperate to come to America." Her lip turned upward. "They do anything, trust anybody. Trust wrong man, and they sold with promises of life here. They told they must pay back cost to bring here. Debt is never paid, not until they dead." Her lips pressed firmly together, and Edward thought for a moment she might cry, but then she took a deep breath and her vulnerability was replaced by a steeliness which Edward recognized as vengeance.

"Ms. Markova," Edward said, "how do you know all of this?"

At this, Irina's eyes did fill with tears, but her expression was still one of hatred, toxic as though the words were poison on her tongue. "My daughter." It was the only thing she had to say and Edward knew exactly what kind of fate her daughter had met.

"What can we do to help?"

"Nothing you can do for her. She dead." Irina sought out Edward's gaze, pleading, and Edward had a feeling she wasn't the type to beg for anything. "Help me bring my granddaughter to me. She is not safe."

Edward reached out and took hold of Irina's hand. She was taken aback by his gesture, but he squeezed it while looking her in the eyes. There was something about this woman's story which resonated deeply with Edward. The incidents of the past week had set his perfectly contained world spinning on a different axis. This was a new path he was venturing down, but one where he would gladly go if it meant putting an end to a monster like Kozlov. He glanced to the man who was responsible for this upheaval of his life, whose eyes had turned soft during the course of this conversation, but his resolve had not seemed affected. Edward didn't know why Whitlock had sought him out, but now he understood the gravity of his determination. He surprised himself with his next words to Irina. "I promise, with whatever money and connections I have, I'll help you bring your granddaughter safely here."

IT WAS DUSK IN Brooklyn, and the streets were mostly empty, mirroring how Edward was feeling. They had listened to Irina's harrowing story of how her daughter, Tatiana, was taken over five years ago. She had met a man whom she'd been dating for a few months, and he was good to her, but when he wanted to take her away for a weekend, Irina's gut had told her something wasn't quite right. Despite Irina's protest, Tatiana went with him, putting her hopes in a man who finally seemed to love and care for her, who had promises of a better life for her and her family. It was the last time Irina saw her daughter. She searched for her, but there wasn't much to go on, until eventually the only trail she found led her to America where Irina had been ever since. With no money or resources, she resorted to whatever she could to find her daughter, but it wasn't enough. She never found her in time, and for the past four years, Irina had been stuck in the United States with no Green Card or current passport to be able to leave the country to fetch Tatiana's daughter. She was working to buy the documents she needed to bring her granddaughter to her, to protect her from the same fate of the girl's mother. Katerina was nine now, and living with distant relatives who were too old to care for her properly. Her granddaughter was the only thing that kept Irina going.

It was a difficult story to hear, but both Edward and Jasper knew it was anything but unique. Irina's family wasn't the first to suffer at the hands of men like Kozlov and they wouldn't be the last. The only thing Edward could promise was to bring the men responsible to justice, and to do everything within his power to give Irina her granddaughter, Katerina, back.

As they drove through the darkening streets of Brooklyn, one thing was clear to Edward: Richard Weber was a liar. And that wasn't sitting well with Edward, not when the man was willing to risk his daughter's life to protect a man like Kozlov, unless of course, it wasn't Kozlov Weber was protecting. Weber needed a wakeup call, and Edward was done with the pulling of his punches. Tomorrow, the man would feel just how hard he could hit. He didn't need to be physical with Weber to get his attention, he just had to hit him where it hurt the most. There was a fire lit inside him now, one he hadn't felt in years. Whether it was Irina's story which ignited it, or the man sitting beside him who had remained silent since they got in the car, he wasn't sure.

It had been a tough few days, and today should have drained away the last of his will, but it hadn't. Edward harnessed his wrath before letting it take over, and channeled it the only way he knew how. He was going to see this all the way through, one way or another, starting with Whitlock.

"I think we need a drink," Edward said at the same time Jasper veered the car down a familiar street. He parked, and turned off the engine, both of them sitting in silence for a few moments.

"I suppose I've got a few stories to tell," Whitlock said, his voice somber. "About time I fill you in on things."

Edward didn't answer, only got out of the car and headed down the street to Jimmy's bar. When he walked in he didn't look at his grandfather's picture, instead headed for an empty corner of the bar and sat on a stool. He had no idea if Jasper was right behind him or not, but he knew he wouldn't be far. It was a heavy afternoon and both of them had finally seen the brevity of what was happening. The petty bullshit they'd been throwing at each other was just that. It was juvenile and selfish, and their egos were going to take a backseat for a while.

He heard the scrape of the stool beside him, knowing it was Jasper without looking up. He could feel the energy from him, and it didn't escape him that the hairs on his arms stood up. He'd been blind to it before, too involved in trying to figure Jasper out, that he hadn't noticed what the man did to him when he was near. This past week he'd been like a caged animal when it came to Whitlock, ready to strike out at the tiniest movements, and each of them wanted to dominate the other just like all cats of the jungle. They were solitary and predatory creatures. Edward could accept that now. They fought their own internal battles, licked their wounds and had come out on the other side a little more humble.

He could appreciate a man like Whitlock more than he cared to admit to himself. Their time with Irina had done something to both of them, but more so with Jasper. He'd lost his swagger, and Edward felt the pain that was obviously buried deep within him. There was something there, Irina's story had struck a nerve with Jasper as well, but Edward knew better than to probe. Some stories were better left buried until they were ready to be revealed.

"Oh, no! You two turn your arses around and go back where you came from!" Jimmy yelled from the other end of the bar. "We'll be having none o' that tonight. Not get enough of Bridget last night, then?" Jimmy threw the towel over his shoulder and walked the length of the bar to them.

Edward raised his head to look at him and Jimmy winced from what he saw.

"Eddie, looks like yer fella' here, got a nice shot in." His eyebrows furrowed when Edward didn't react, and Jimmy turned to look at Jasper. He reached across the bar grabbing hold of Jasper's chin, raising it to get a good look at him. He tsked, shaking his head. "You're not as bad. How are the ribs?" He frowned, tilting his head when Jasper didn't react either. "Oh, no. Looks like you boys need the good stuff."

He returned with a bottle of top-shelf whiskey, and two glasses appeared in front of them. Jimmy poured them a big dose of the good stuff.

"I see it was a rough day, boys."

"You could say that," Edward finally spoke as he lifted the glass to his lips.

"How's the search?" His voice was just above a whisper. Both Jasper and Edward shrugged knowing full well they couldn't talk about it in the bar with so many people around. "Here, take the bottle, go in back and have at it," he winked, grabbing the keys out of his pocket, "and by 'it' I mean the whiskey." He laughed, trying to lighten their moods, but it did nothing but make Edward blush. "Go on," he added softly, "I'll join you shortly."


	11. Chapter 11

**~*Chapter 11*~**

Edward was dog-tired, but his mind was alert, telling his body this was just the beginning, that his exhaustion would have to wait. Less than twenty-four hours ago Jimmy had taken a baseball bat to Jasper in this office. It was cleaned up now; the filing cabinets were restored with the Louisville Slugger resting on top. A reminder to Edward of how much had changed in a day. They had intended to beat the crap out of each other, and if it wasn't for the dull ache of his nose, Edward would have thought it had taken place weeks ago. There was tension between the two of them, but understanding considering the kind of day they had. They sat on opposite ends of the sofa waiting for the other to speak, and when the strain became too much, Jasper finally spoke up.

"So, Jimmy really used that on you?" He nodded toward the baseball bat.

"More times than I can count."

"You were a little shit disturber as a kid, then."

"You could say that."

"I misjudged you," Jasper said under his breath. He flashed a quick look to Edward's face before pouring each of them a drink.

"What's that? I'm sorry, I didn't hear you." Edward held a hand to his ear and smiled as he accepted the glass offered to him.

"Don't be an asshole. I said I misjudged you. Don't make me take it back." He pointed a finger at Edward's attire. "What I don't get is how you turned into this."

"Not many do," Edward said. "What can I say? I like nice things."

"But you were just another punk, and now you're this."

"I guess you don't know everything about me." Despite the day they had, Edward wasn't about to divulge anything personal to Whitlock. Sure, they had their first day as real partners, but it didn't mean Edward trusted Whitlock, or felt the need to explain anything about his life to him. He was perfectly happy keeping some secrets from him.

"Why the suits, then?"

"Why are so obsessed with my clothing?"

Jasper tilted his head, refusing to answer the question, waiting for his own to be answered.

"Fine, if you must know," Edward let out a huff giving in to this one small thing, "a suit makes a statement. Says what kind of man you are, sets a tone. I do business with a lot of wealthy clients. They want to believe I can help them. An expensive suit projects confidence, tells them I'm capable and then some. And before you ask..." he held up a finger, "I'm very capable, despite what you think about me. Besides," he smiled and took a sip of whiskey, "I look damn good in a suit."

Edward waited for the smart ass comment. He was ready for it, but instead Jasper sipped slowly at his drink, staring at Edward over the rim of the glass. "I suppose the suit has some appeal." He shrugged as he stood up. "I never said you weren't capable, Cullen. I didn't think you could handle what we're getting into. There's a difference. Like I said, I was wrong about you, but don't get too cocky just yet. You shouldn't have promised Irina you could help her. She's one in hundreds, thousands even. You can't help her." His face was drawn. Edward could see he meant what he said, and knowing a little about Whitlock's past, it was most likely from experience. What Whitlock didn't know, was that Edward never made promises he couldn't keep. As far as he was concerned, his promise to Irina would be no different, even if Whitlock thought it was futile. He would help Irina and prove Whitlock wrong.

Edward's eyes followed Jasper as he moved to the bookshelf along the far wall. He bent his head to read the yellowed newspaper clipping beside the dusty fireman's helmet.

"Did you go?" Edward asked, and then cleared his throat. "To Iraq? Afghanistan?"

Jasper straightened up, but Edward could see the tension in his shoulders.

"Nah," he said. "Never made it. I wanted to, but..." He didn't finish his thought, and instead slowly walked about the room admiring the rest of Jimmy's trinkets. "I would have gone."

Edward didn't press. Jasper was the type of man who would have volunteered to be deployed, so if something had kept him from going to war, there was a good reason behind it. He had been discharged four years ago, Edward knew this much at least, and now he was curious about the reasons behind it. He couldn't help but wonder if the scar on his arm had anything to do with it. The topic of conversation seemed to make Whitlock uncomfortable. Edward still found it difficult to talk about as well, so to spare them both, he changed the subject back to Irina. "You weren't surprised by her story."

"No," Whitlock said, and seemed to relax enough to sit down on the sofa again. "It's not the first, and it won't be the last."

"Who's Peter?"

"Pyotr?" Jasper looked up, surprised. "He was a contact of mine in Bosnia. One of the few legitimate police officers. He did what he could in a fucked up country that had no laws."

"I'm assuming your objective didn't include human trafficking?"

"It didn't," he said, settling back into the sofa. "But it couldn't be avoided, really. It was everywhere. Sorta went hand in hand with what we were doing there. Pyotr brought forward some evidence to the CID involving certain officials. He found a young girl, Charlotte, who was willing to testify. He wanted to help her. CID said it was a local matter and couldn't get involved. He came to me and my team for help." He shrugged, then scratched the stubble on his chin. "We got her out. I can't say too much more. The man's in hiding, supposed to be dead. People in the business know who he was and what he stood for. Pytor's the one who helped track Irina's daughter to the U.S."

"How does this all connect?"

Jasper leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked Edward square in the eyes, and Edward felt the need to look away, but he held his gaze.

"Think about your life, Cullen, and what it all means to you. Because once you go down this road, you can't come back from it. I'm giving you a chance to walk away. Forget all this and go back to your three-piece suits."

Edward thought of Angela Weber sharing the same fate as Irina's daughter. This was someone he knew. He wasn't the type to walk away and leave her to that. He couldn't. "It's too late for me to walk away."

"You have no idea how far this goes. Kozlov is nothing. It's a billion dollar industry and it grows every year. Kozlov is just a middleman."

"And Richard Weber?"

"Is a stupid man who didn't know what his business was being used for. I came to New York because this is where I traced a shipment of girls from Russia to. They came here, and I lost them. Someone in this city is protecting Kozlov, and it has to be someone of power to have the law turn a blind eye."

It all suddenly clicked for Edward, everything that had lead up to this point: Whitlock's open hostility toward him, the bugs in his office, the research on him. It wasn't about him, it was about his father. The tension in the room went up ten-fold, but only for a moment. Edward realized the absurdity of Whitlock's first assumptions and couldn't help but laugh at the man despite the gravity of the situation. He tried to hide his smile, but it was difficult not to make fun of him. "You thought my father was involved!" His laughter took over, and he shook his head in disbelief. "And you think _I'm_ naive."

"Fuck you. I figured it out in the first few days I was in the city. Your old man is clean. He's a saint. I can see why the two of you don't get along all that well. No one could live in that shadow. Believe me, I was hoping it was the Commissioner, it would have made things a lot easier." Whitlock's joke fell flat as Edward considered the idea of his father being involved in any of this, which turned his thoughts to another line of reasoning.

"And me? You thought I was involved, too!" Edward said.

"You have to see how it seemed to an outsider. On paper, looking at your life, your connections, the dismissal from the Force and the money, none of it added up. It raised a few red flags. You two fitted the profile."

"Oh! The profile." Edward started to laugh again. "This explains so much about you."

"Whatever, Cullen. I had you pegged within a week. All the other shit was just me messing with you."

Edward loosened his tie, and undid the top button on his shirt. "All right, then. Since you thought I was some mastermind criminal, I think I deserve the rest of this story." He settled back in the sofa and rested his ankle across his knee. "How long have you been tracking Kozlov?"

"Not as long as you. I was only made aware of him when I arrived in New York. I was tracking someone else, an operative name Alexi, and that trail led me here. What I can't figure out is who Kozlov answers to. See, you've assumed Kozlov was the man in charge, and maybe in the world you've been investigating, he is. But in this world, my world, he answers to someone else. It goes higher. Port Authority, city, state... country. I don't know. You need to understand something about all this... this will test you, Cullen. Your life, your parents, everything is at risk. If we get this wrong, you'll lose everything."

Edward sucked in a breath. This was a revelation about Whitlock he hadn't been expecting. The first day they met in Edward's office, Whitlock hadn't been disappointed with him like he had thought. His bravado was a show to push him away. Whitlock was trying to protect Edward in his own convoluted way.

"That's why you didn't want my help. That's why you walked out," Edward said, more to himself, and before Whitlock could answer him he continued. "What made you come back, then?"

"Your files on Kozlov. They're impressive. While you've been tracking him, I've been tracking the girls. We started at opposite ends, and even though you didn't know it, we met in the middle. I'm sure you can appreciate how good Kozlov is at covering his tracks. Even you never saw the trafficking connection after four years of investigating him." He smiled at Edward. "Well, and then Angela Weber disappeared, and since your families know each other and Weber wanted to keep a low profile, I knew he'd go to you. I had no choice but to involve you."

Edward still had so many questions, but the one that was in the forefront of his mind was about the girls Whitlock had been tracking.

"Gone. Who knows where." Whitlock shrugged. "I've learned to distance myself. You have to. It can't be personal, believe me."

"Not personal? Is that even possible?"

"You learn real quick you won't get anywhere if you try to save them all. It's not about that. It's about stopping the people responsible. You have to think like them, be like them." He finished the rest of his drink and set the glass down, almost breaking it as he set it down. "It's the only way."

Edward didn't believe Whitlock, anymore than Whitlock believed his own words. There was a hitch in his voice he had tried to disguise with the sip of his drink, Edward heard it. No one with morals and virtue could ignore what was happening to these girls and not make it personal. Something else was driving him to be here in New York, that much was clear. Since they had left Kalinka, there had been a haunted look in Whitlock's eyes which Edward could not ignore. He was desperate to know how Whitlock got involved in any of this.

"What happened to you in Bosnia?"

Whitlock cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. It was the first time Edward had seen the man genuinely unsettled.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. You don't have to tell me. I just..." His voice trailed off as he choked on the words he couldn't say out loud. The walls in the room felt like they were closing in on him as he waited for Whitlock to say something. He was treading on some very personal territory, and would have given anything to take it back. He hoped Whitlock would make a flippant remark like he usually did. It would set them back on even ground, and Edward was desperate for that right now. He wanted something—anything to go back to the way things were between them only hours ago. The silence was worse than any of the contempt they had shared in the last few days. And just when he thought he couldn't take any more, Whitlock cleared his throat and took another sip of whiskey.

"Things were done," he said, his voice strained. "As far as my team was concerned, we were still at war. We were there to track down criminals responsible for the genocide, whatever the cost. We didn't exist. We did things... saw things. Let's just say there are some fucked up individuals in this world, and I've met my fair share of them. That's why you shouldn't have promised Irina you could help her. Things in this world rarely turn out how you want them to. And some people you think you can trust, Edward."

Hearing his name on Whitlock's lips had set his stomach aflutter, everything else that was said was forgotten for just a moment. It was just a name, and the fact they were talking about such monsters responsible for mass murder and the enslavement of young girls, he shouldn't have felt this way, but hearing him say his name for the first time was more shocking to him than listening to any of Whitlock's stories. It had an obvious effect on him, one he didn't wish to hide any longer. Edward forced himself to look at Jasper, and when he did he was surprised by what he saw. Whitlock had a hold of his right arm, the one with the scar on it. He was gripping it tightly and his jaw was set. He didn't know Edward was watching him, and it occurred to Edward he did care how Jasper had gotten that scar. He did want to know who had done it to him, and more importantly why.

Gathering his courage, he slid a little closer.

"What happened?" His voice was just above a whisper. "Jasper," he said and swallowed the lump in his throat, "who did that to you?"

Jasper kept his head down, his face was hidden behind his hair, but Edward saw the mottled red skin on his neck. The blood rushed through his ears, as his heart pounded in his chest, drowning out all sounds including the muffled sounds of the bar through the door. His hands were trembling as the urge to reach out and touch Jasper —place a comforting hand on his shoulder— became too much. He couldn't will his hand to move. There was something vulnerable there which Edward could sympathize with. It wasn't pity he was feeling. He could never pity Jasper Whitlock, he never would. It was some other emotion which was clouding his judgement, and it was tapping away at the fortified wall he had built around his heart these past four years. Edward wondered if Jasper would answer him, if he trusted him enough to confess that much to him, but most of all, he wondered if he wanted him to. He wasn't ready for any of this, because that would mean he would have to trust Jasper.

Before he could test himself, they were interrupted by a soft knocking on the door. Edward pushed back to his end of the sofa as Jimmy entered the room. He gave them both a once over, resting his eyes on Edward longer than what was necessary, making Edward flush under his scrutiny.

"You're both in one piece, I see." Jimmy smiled at them. "'Tis a good sign, that is." He shut the door, and went to one of the cabinets, pulling out the drawer. "Eddie, I hate to interrupt, 'cause it's nice to see ye gettin' on, but yer ol' man is out front. So, unless ye want him to blather at ye, best be heading out the back door."

"Did you tell him I was here?" Edward said, jumping up from the sofa.

"Whaddya take me for, ye Muppet! No, I didn't tell him. One punch-up a week is my limit." He pulled out a brown file folder from the drawer and waved it at them. "Now, go on, and take this. It'll do ye some good with that Weber fella." He handed the folder to Edward, but held on to it for a second before giving it up. "This is big, son. You two think about what yer doing. Keep them egos in check, boys, 'cause there's no room now."

Opening the folder, Edward eyes swept over the photographs it contained. They were surveillance photos, black and white, eight by tens. "Where did you get these, Jimmy?"

"Don't ye worry 'bout me. Ye worry what yer gonna do wit 'em."

Jasper had come to stand beside Edward, looking over his shoulder as Edward quickly browsed through the photos. Most of them were of Richard Weber with some prominent men, but some were of men and women Edward didn't recognize, and with one glance at Jasper's face he could tell Jasper didn't know them either.

"Jimmy—" Edward started to say.

"I've got nothin' else fer ye. I don't even know what those are." He held up his hands in defence. "It's better ye don't ask, just go."

Edward squeezed the man's shoulder, and then said his thanks while he patted him on the back. As he was turning to leave, Jimmy grabbed his forearm.

"I'll only say this once, son. Ye keep that melon down until ye can no longer. Make sure it counts, if ye know what I mean. And I know ye do." He turned to Jasper and put a hand on his shoulder. "That goes fer you, too, Jay. I've grown rather fond of ye. And if ye can," he pointed his thumb at Edward, "keep 'em safe."

"I will." Edward saw the flush on Jasper's ears as he answered the man, shaking his hand. He avoided Edward's eyes, but then he added, "That's a tall order, Jimmy, keeping someone like _Eddie_ safe. How do you save someone from themselves?" Whitlock grinned, and everything that had been shared in this office minutes ago was forgotten. It was no longer between them, things were back to normal. Edward could almost taste the difference in the air. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Jasper was gone, and Whitlock was back.

Jimmy's eyes narrowed for a second watching Edward, then his eyes rested on Jasper. "Ye better, or you'll be answering to his mam. Oh, and speaking of your mam, Eddie, don't be forgetting Sunday dinner. You'll break her heart if you don't go."


	12. Chapter 12

**~*Chapter 12*~**

The elevator doors opened up to a lobby which was richly decorated in mahogany and brass. The lighting was low even though the sun was shining brightly outside. The windows had been covered with shades to give the place a distinct feeling of luxurious wealth. It was pretentious with that old money feel; antique pieces which cost more than the cleaning staff's yearly salary. Edward had that uncomfortable feeling which made his skin crawl. The office reminded him of his grandparent's study. He didn't want to be here, but he was here for answers, and he wasn't leaving until he got them.

He approached the receptionist. She was an older woman with greying hair, but her eyes were sharp, noticing Edward's attire and youth, and the gun on his hip underneath his jacket.

"Mr. Cullen?" she said, surprising Edward.

"Ah, yes, that's right."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weber is unavailable right now. Is there a message for him?"

This bit of news set Edward on edge. Why would a man who had hired him to find his missing daughter, dismiss him so easily? She knew who he was as soon as he walked out of the elevator, which meant she had been given a heads up about him, and it was obvious those instructions didn't include a 'let me drop everything if Edward Cullen comes calling, because it might have something to do with my daughter.'

Edward glanced to the name plate on the reception desk. The desk was the only thing in the office that wasn't an antique, but he could see it was custom built all the same. The edge of the desk came up to chest level, with a glass pedestal on top. "Mrs. Cope, is it?" Edward smiled, leaning an elbow on the glass. "You know who I am, and what business I have with Richard." He chose to use his first name to let her know he wasn't intimidated by any of this. "I'm sure he'll make time for me."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cullen, but he gave me strict instructions not to disturb him for anyone."

"Well, I'm not anyone, am I? Not when this is about his daughter, Angela. You've met her before, right? Such a sweet sixteen year old..." He let his voice trail off while he watched Mrs. Cope's face pale. Her eyes teared for a quick second before she blinked them away. She looked down at her computer, refusing to meet Edward's eyes.

"I can't let you in there," she said just above a whisper. "He's with someone. I can't let you barge in there and interrupt."

"You don't have to. I'll tell him I pushed my way through, which is what I'm going to do whether you let me in or not. All you have to do is point the way, and skip out to the ladies room. You never saw me." Edward shrugged, giving her a winning smile.

She hesitated, thinking it through.

"Who's in there?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. "I got here just before nine, and they were already in there. I was to hold all calls and visitors."

"Well, see, now I'm curious. Your boss has some explaining to do, and I don't have time to wait for his schedule to clear. A girl's life is at stake. You can understand that, right, Mrs. Cope?"

She grabbed her purse from under her desk and rushed toward the elevator, not even giving Edward a second glance.

Edward walked around the desk and looked at the agenda book, and Richard's calendar for the next few weeks. There were meetings and luncheons, but nothing that stood out as odd, but then he wasn't expecting anything, either. He doubted dear Mrs. Cope would know any of the illegal activities Richard was up to.

The folder Jimmy had given him contained revealing pictures of Richard Weber dining with prominent business men in the city who were known to test the grey areas of business. He was seen with a few judges, and even the governor of New York. The man rubbed elbows with all kinds in this city, but none of it could be pinned to what was really going on. The only break came in the form of a few photos of Weber with Kozlov and his associates on a few separate occasions. When Weber had first come to see him, Edward had questioned him whether or not he knew the crime boss. Weber led Edward to believe they had met on one or two occasions in passing, nothing more. The pictures in the file folder Jimmy had given him proved otherwise.

Yesterday had taken its toll on Edward. After Whitlock had dropped him off at his condo with nothing more than a 'see you later,' Edward had sat down at his computer and did all the research he could on what he was getting himself into. Between the images he couldn't forget, to the conversation he had with Whitlock in Jimmy's office, he'd written off any chance of a restful sleep. Edward spent the entire night tossing and turning, his mind wouldn't shut off. It kept recalling the day's events and everything he had learned. He tried to tell himself it was all the new information, that it was too overwhelming to process, but it was only a deflection. He didn't want to admit that most of his thoughts drifted toward Jasper. It was difficult to ignore the idea there was something more he was feeling.

There was a mutual respect growing between the two of them, but he wasn't sure if he was ready for it. Whitlock had sparked something inside of him and not just aggravation like he originally thought. It would be imprudent to assume Whitlock wanted anything from him other than help with the case. The man was still a mystery to him despite having learned a little more about his life. He still didn't know who he was or what he wanted.

Edward was careful with his emotions. He'd been burned in the past, and he wasn't ready to let his guard down again. So, when the sun had finally risen, he had made the decision to push aside everything he was feeling for Whitlock and concentrate on the case. Finding Angela Weber was the only thing that mattered. That was why he was here—in Richard Weber's office—alone. He needed distance from Whitlock.

As he approached Weber's door, he was starting to second guess his decision. He didn't know who was in there, and what if it was the one person he didn't know how to face? How would he react to seeing the man face to face again after all of these years? Would he overreact and compromise the case, and Angela's life? Or could he keep himself in check and do what needed to be done.

He checked his gun just to make sure.

Edward didn't bother to knock. He opened the door without remorse, at least until he saw who the visitor actually was.

"What is the meaning of—" Weber announced at the intrusion. "Oh." Clearing his throat, he brought his voice down to a more respectable level. "Edward, perhaps now is not the best time."

Weber's visitor slowly stood up and turned to face the door. The man's expression was one of outrage and hatred, with a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I see after four years, nothing has humbled you. Barging in where you don't belong. I thought your fall from grace would have made you more modest, but I see that's impossible for one such as arrogant as you."

It was the last face he had expected to see. A part of him had hoped it was Kozlov in Weber's office. The adrenaline had kicked in when Mrs. Cope had mentioned the mysterious visitor, and now he felt the blood rushing from his face. He wanted the confrontation with Kozlov, he'd been expecting it. What he hadn't expected was the Mayor of New York City to be sitting across from Richard Weber. If he hadn't been so shocked he would have fired back some retort, but he was dumbstruck at the sight of the man he loathed to his very core.

"Oh, I forgot," the Mayor said, looking at the bruises under his eyes, "you only speak with your fists."

Edward blinked a few times and swallowed, willing the moisture to return to his tongue so he could speak. He had seen the man in the papers, and on the television since he had 'assaulted' him, but he'd never been in the same room with him since—partly to do with a temporary restraining order against Edward. Without the makeup and lights, Edward could see that he had aged. His thinning grey hair was very thin now, and Edward briefly wondered if he wore a hairpiece when he was on camera. He was a tall man, thin and rakish, with a long, slender, bird-like nose which always reminded Edward of Ichabod Crane. Unfortunately, his demeanour was nothing like the fictional character.

"What are you doing here?" Edward managed to ask.

"I think that question should be directed toward yourself."

Edward bit his tongue to keep from lashing out. The last thing he needed was the Mayor's spotlight on him in all of this business. Instead he addressed the man he came to see. "Weber, you and I need to talk."

"I hardly think you're in a position to demand anything."

"It's okay, Marcus, this is about my daughter," Weber said.

Edward watched the Mayor's reaction, and there was a hint of recognition in his eyes, but his face gave nothing away. He stared at Edward with an unwavering stare. "Are you sure, Richard? My security team is downstairs. I can have him arrested for trespassing and harassment... it wouldn't be the first time."

Edward bit back another scathing comment, knowing the prick would look for any excuse to haul him away in handcuffs again.

"I think we're pretty much finished, Marcus. I'll have my lawyers draw something up and have it over to your office in a few days." Richard Weber shook the Mayor's hand, and then walked him to the door.

Before the Mayor left, he gave Edward one last sneer. As he turned, Edward called out to him. "Be sure to give my regards to your _son_, sir!" His comment did the trick, and he was satisfied as he watched the color rise on the Mayor's cheeks. It flustered the man, and he left before Edward could say anything more.

Weber shut the door, and gave Edward a weary look while he walked back to his desk.

"Is he involved in this?" Edward spat out without even thinking.

"Involved in what?"

"Don't play games. You know damn well what I mean." Edward pulled the photographs Jimmy had given him out of his jacket pocket and went straight to the point, slamming them down on Weber's desk. "You've been lying to me."

Richard rubbed a hand over his face while he sat down behind his desk. "Okay. Okay." He held up his hands in defence, glancing at the photos.

"Do you have any idea what kind of man he is? Do you!" Edward raised his voice, partly from the ignorance of the man in front of him, and partly because of the run-in with the Mayor. Seeing him again had unsettled him, and the adrenaline was coursing through his bloodstream now. "You said you didn't know why someone like him would target you. You said it was a 'passing acquaintance.'" He picked up four of the photos and placed them one by one in front of Weber. "This is hardly a passing acquaintance." He pointed to a photo where Kozlov looked as though he was yelling, and Weber's expression was one of a man visibly terrified.

"He said he'd kill her!" Richard yelled back. "I didn't have a choice!"

"Do you honestly think a man like Kozlov will let her go? Do you even know what he does? Angela may not even be on this continent anymore."

"What?" Richard was honestly surprised by this news.

"Death would be too easy for Kozlov. He traffics girls. Did you know that?"

Richard went ghostly pale and looked as though he was going to be sick.

"You don't want to hear this," Edward said, "but you're going to, and then you're going to tell me everything you _should _have told me _days_ ago." Edward rubbed a hand across his chin, trying to speak the words that wouldn't come. "He's in the business of taking young girls and selling them. I think you can guess exactly what they're being sold for." Edward pulled out more photos; the research he'd done last night on the trafficking industry. They were graphic, extreme in every sense. He wanted to scare Richard Weber, and he wasn't going to hold anything back from him. So, when he placed the photos in front of Weber of young, drug-induced girls being forced to do things against their will, they did what he had intended them to do. "This is what will happen to her."

Richard put a hand to his mouth and dry-heaved, and then seconds later he leaned over his desk grabbing the wastepaper basket and expelled the entire contents of his breakfast. Edward didn't console him, or give in. He continued to press Richard, and after the man had collected himself, Edward said, "Are you listening now?" Richard could only nod. "If we're to have any, and I mean _any_, chance of getting her back you need to tell me _everything. _Do you understand me? _Everything._" Richard remained silent for a moment, only staring out the window. He was a man weighing his options.

"Why did you even come to me if you didn't want my help?"

"My wife," Richard managed to choke out, "she begged me to come to you, to help us."

"So, she has no idea about any of this."

Richard shook his head, no. "You don't understand—"

"The only thing I understand is that your daughter's life is worth more than yours, you piece of shit. I don't care who's involved or how high this goes I will take them down, with or without your help. But for Angela's sake, I hope it's with your help. Do you really want to explain to your wife what's going to happen to her little girl if we don't find her?" Edward crossed his arms, waiting for Weber to say something. The fury coursed through him. All he kept thinking was this man didn't deserve to live if he wasn't going to do everything in his power to save his own daughter. What kind of man was he?

All night, Edward wondered if he was cut out for this, he wondered if he had what it took to be like Whitlock. Did he have the stomach for this? Did he have the balls to do what needed to be done? He was starting to see what Whitlock had meant when he said 'you can't save them all.' Sometimes it was out of your hands. The people you want to trust will eventually let you down. It was a simple fact of life. In his head, the image of the Mayor's sneer flashed in his head. It sparked the outrage he was feeling and it took over. Richard Weber was a spineless coward. His daughter deserved better.

Edward grabbed Weber by the neck and forced his head close to the desk, held it hovering just above the photographs. His other hand pulled his gun from its holster, placing it down on the desk beside his head. The sound of the metal hitting the wood was solid and sure, exactly how Edward was feeling.

"_Look _at these." He shoved Weber's head closer. "_Look!_" He angled the man's face down, forcing him to see the images that had haunted him all night. He could hear Weber's whimpering, confirming just what a coward he was. "Tell me, Weber, is your daughter a virgin? Because virgins go for a special price. Did you know that?" Weber expunged a throated wail, and Edward finally let him up. "Do I have your attention now?"

Richard nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Edward picked up his gun, putting it back on his hip. Setting his tie straight, he said, "Now, you're going to tell me how you got involved with Kozlov, and then you're going to tell me what the Mayor was doing here."

* * *

><p><em>This chapter had another scene attached to it, but I'm trying to keep them under 3K words. Leaving it in would have put it at close to 6K so I chose to split it up. I won't make you wait a week for it! I'll have it up in a few days. So, you won't be Whitlockless for long. I just felt it was important to give Edward his own time.<br>Thank you so much for reading! I apologize for not finding the time to respond to your reviews on this last chapter. I'll post this next chapter soon as an apology. :}_

_~*EFC*~_


	13. Chapter 13

**~*Chapter 13*~**

Edward was starting to feel the effects of a night without sleep. He was beyond tired and after he checked in with Alice, he was going to head home with some decent take out, pour himself a well-deserved glass of wine and digest everything Richard Weber had confessed to him. The man was easily intimated, it was no wonder Kozlov managed to maintain that kind of power over Weber. Once Edward had put the fear of God into him, the spineless man was willing to share everything he knew, or at least Edward hoped it was everything. It wasn't too difficult to imagine how a man like Weber had gotten where he was. Money was a powerful driving force, something Edward knew a lot about over the years. He'd seen countless men fall under its enchantment. The more they had, the more they wanted, and the more desperate they became to get it. Weber was exactly that kind of man.

The drive back to the office left him alone with his thoughts, and for once he was happy they didn't include Whitlock... at least not in the way they had last night. He'd spent the morning with Weber, trying to connect the dots to figure out who was involved in all of this, but they had reached a standstill. Edward got enough of what he needed from Weber, now he needed to ruminate on the information before sharing it with Whitlock. He knew Whitlock was holding back some key things to this investigation, so it was about time he gave him a taste of his own medicine.

Trust, there was that word again, it was hard to come by and even harder to give. '_Things in this world rarely turn out how you want them to, Edward.'_ Those words of Whitlock's played over and over in his head. He seemed to be of the same mindset.

Edward cast a watchful eye on Alice as he walked through the glass doors to the office. His plan for some much needed rest was going to be sacrificed. She was beaming while she sat behind her desk, and there was a twinkle in her eye as she handed Edward his messages.

"Out with it, Alice."

She tapped her pen on her hand, looking from him to the closed door of his office. "Visitor." She smiled.

He let out an exaggerated sigh, even with all of the distractions of the morning, Whitlock was still front row and center. He could feel his cheeks grow warm, which seemed to be a common theme when it came to that man. "Why did you let him in my office—"

"It's not Whitlock in there." She grinned, and as she said the words he realized what that closed door meant. He groaned, and set his shoulders, raising his posture as he contemplated what he should do next. He glanced out the window and then to the door. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair leaving it a bit dishevelled, before making the decision to go in rather than run away like he wanted.

"Isn't it lunchtime for you?" he said to Alice, but she had already grabbed her purse out of her drawer and was heading for the door.

He took one last deep breath before entering his office.

"Edward!"

"Mother," he said through gritted teeth. "Why are you here?"

"Can't a mother come to visit her own son?"

As was customary with each of her visits, Edward noticed a few of his things had been moved around in his office, better suited to his mother's taste rather than his own. When she left, Edward would move everything back to its place. Neither of them ever commented on this ritual of theirs, it was done unsaid, but it was always done, both setting their own precedent, and neither bending to the other's will. It was the nature of their relationship.

Esme Cullen was impeccably dressed, but it was understated as always. She wore a simple charcoal-color dress, with a v-neck that came down far enough to expose an elegant platinum chain with a single solitaire diamond setting. Edward had bought that necklace for her with the money he made solving his first case. She hardly ever removed it.

His mother had never looked her age, and today was no exception.

She closed her arms around Edward into a tight hug, pulling him down to kiss his cheek, and as he broke their embrace, she smoothed down his unruly hair. Something about this gesture made Edward feel like a child again. He was surprised she hadn't licked the palm of her hand first, given the chance, he was sure she would have. She gripped his cheeks between her hands, examining the purple and green bruises under his eyes.

"What has happened? Who did this to you?" she asked, but Edward saw through her mocking concern.

"Oh, right, like you don't know." He rolled his eyes, stepping out from under her scrutiny. "Jimmy would have called the house the minute I left the bar the other night. You know damn well what happened. You're here to check up on me."

"Watch your language, please," Esme said. "I'm not here to check up on you. I've missed you."

"So, Jimmy didn't call you?"

"Oh, he called," she said smiling. "Said you got into a 'tussle,' just like the old days." She laughed, and her laugh always soothed him. His mother had a way of diffusing tense situations, and whether it was a smile, a look or a lilting laugh like she had just done, the tension in his body always faded.

"What did dad say about it?"

"Your father's been tight lipped about this whole affair. He didn't say much, but he mentioned you're working with a partner on this case." Her eyebrow rose in question, but Edward refused to confirm or deny her comment.

She sighed. "Just because you and your father aren't seeing eye-to-eye right now, doesn't mean you can shut me out, too."

"Mom, I'm not ready to talk about things just yet. Okay?"

She stared at the cut on his knuckle, and Edward remembered nothing ever got past his mother.

"You went to see Richard Weber today."

"Did dad send you here?" Edward asked, outraged by this new tactic of his father's. "He called, didn't he? That asshat mayor—"

"Edward!" Esme put her hands on her hips. "You're not helping. You know how touchy that whole situation is. And no, your father did not send me here. Do you really think I'd come if he had? I'm worried about you." She dropped her hands, and closed the distance, only leaving the desk between them. "Do you think I'm ignorant to what that man does? I know who Richard Weber is. We may run in the same circles, but don't think for one minute I like that man. This is dangerous business, and even though you're an adult, I'm allowed to be worried about you, and so is your father." They stared each other down, both of their eyes narrowing, and then Esme's shoulders relaxed. "Just promise me you're being careful."

He could see the worry in her eyes, but he also knew she would let him make his own decisions. Edward always appreciated that about his mother. Growing up, she had never told him what he should do when it came to making the big decisions in his life. She knew what it meant to be independent, and it was a constant battle between his mother and father, but she always stood by Edward and never tried to run his life.

"I'm being careful," he said, and walked around his desk to pull his mother into a hug. "I'm going to bring Angela back to her mother."

"I know you will." She held him at arm's length, giving him the proverbial mother/son look. It lasted a few breaths longer than Edward would have liked, and she knew this. Shaking her head and laughing, she said, "What is an ass—Never mind!" She threw her hands up in the air. "I don't want to know." She started to laugh again, which brought a smile to Edward's face, but then she stopped abruptly. Edward cringed knowing what was coming next. "What I do want to know... is who this new partner of yours is?"

"He's not my partner_,_" Edward said.

"Jimmy and your father seem to think so."

"Jimmy and dad are full of it. You know that more than anyone," Edward said in mocked disgust. "We're working together on _this_ case, that's it."

"When do I get to meet him?"

"You don't."

"Why don't you bring him to Sunday dinner?"

Edward groaned. "I was going to talk to you about that—"

"Edward Anthony," she said, "don't think for one second you're getting out of dinner."

"I've got lots to do. This case—"

"Will still be there with a full meal in your stomach. This is non-negotiable. Your grandparents are expecting you."

Edward mumbled a curse under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I _said_, you're starting to sound like dad."

There was a knock on the door, and it wasn't a feminine knock, either. Edward groaned again knowing exactly who it was on the other side of his door. "Not now!" he yelled out.

"Don't be rude, Edward," Esme said, walking to the door and before opening it, she added, "I raised you better." She stopped short at the appearance of Jasper towering over her. Her head trailed all the way up his body and rested on his face, causing a slight blush from Whitlock.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you and your son, ma'am, but I have some news he'll want to hear." Whitlock held up his phone in his hand.

Edward's mouth fell open at the stranger standing in the door. Whitlock had smoothed down his hair, tucked in his shirt, and with those impeccable manners, Edward had to take a second glance at the man's boots to confirm who he was. It annoyed him how fresh Whitlock looked. He had been just as tired as Edward was when he dropped him off last night, but somehow he had managed to get a full night's sleep. It was a soldier's gift, Edward supposed, able to fall asleep anywhere and at any given time.

"And who might you be?" Esme asked with an amused tone.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cullen. I'm Jasper Whitlock." He held out his hand as an introduction. Esme looked at him in amazement, and hesitated before taking hold of his hand. When she did, Jasper's face was filled with an ear-to-ear grin.

"Mr. Whitlock," Esme said, returning his smile, "the pleasure is mine." She held on to his hand, turning briefly to her son, and giving him an all-telling look. Edward rolled his eyes at the artificial display of niceties and sat down in his chair.

"Please, call me Jasper," he said, and dipped his head a little.

"Oh, come on," Edward said. "You two are being ridiculous."

"Good manners are nothing to mock, Cullen," Jasper said and winked at him over his mother's turned head. "I can't help it. It's how we're raised in the South."

"I couldn't agree with you more, Jasper. I was just asking my son about you." She glanced at Jasper's healing split-lip, which caused him to blush even further. "I understand the two of you have had somewhat of a disagreement. I trust it's all been resolved?"

"It has, ma'am. And I apologize for any problems it might have caused you and your husband."

Edward watched the whole exchange and was amazed by both performances. Each of them had managed to outdo the other with their honeyed words.

"Well," Esme said, "I'll leave you two to business, but before I go..." She threw a triumphant look her son's way before turning back to Jasper.

"Don't even think about it," Edward said, but Esme ignored him.

"Mr. Whitlock, when was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?" Esme asked, thrilled by her devious plan. "Would you like to join us for dinner on Sunday?"

"No," Edward volunteered for him.

Jasper didn't move a muscle, only the tic of his jaw was visible to Edward, but he saw it and he also saw the amusement in his eyes.

"Why, Mrs. Cullen, I would love to. Thank you, ma'am. I can't tell you the last time I had a meal that didn't come from a box, or cooked in grease, and from what I've heard, your Sunday meals are not to be taken lightly." His manners were dripping with Southern charm as he continued to lay it on real thick. His mother would see through it, but when he looked at her, all he saw was the blush on her cheeks.

Edward scoffed at the both of them. "He's not coming."

"Hush, Edward," Esme scolded. "He's my guest, not yours." She patted Jasper's arm, gripping it ever so slightly, before heading out the door. "I'll see myself out. Don't be late!" she yelled over her shoulder.

"Yes, _Edward_, hush up." Jasper grinned his infamous grin, and Edward fought the groan that wanted to escape his lips.

"So, what's this news, then?"

"Oh, nothing really, just wanted to meet the lovely Mrs. Cullen." Jasper was still beaming while he untucked his shirt. "The two of you are nothing alike."

Edward rose from his chair, casually walking to the door looking for Alice. When he didn't see her, he asked Whitlock how he had managed to get it in.

"I didn't break in, if that's what you think. I met Alice in the lobby, she came back up to let me in."

Edward was going to have to have another word with Alice. "Why are you here?"

"You missed me, admit it, Cullen."

Edward rolled his eyes at that familiar annoyance that was settling in when it came to all things Whitlock. It was a feeling he could get on board with, so he welcomed the irritation. Edward sighed. "Hardly. It was a welcome change not having you tagging along, invading my space."

"Where you been all morning?"

"I had a life before you came along, I still do."

"So, it's gonna be like that, is it?"

"Like what?"

"Gonna make me wine and dine you first before you put out?" He smiled and wriggled his eyebrows.

At least Edward was growing accustomed to Whitlock's taunts, but he'd be kidding himself if he thought Whitlock didn't know where he was all morning. "Are you going to tell me where you've been up until now?"

Whitlock stretched with his arms over his head and grunted. "At home. It was a late night," he said, dropping his arms to adjust his belt. "What can I say? She kept me busy."

"Who?" The words came out before he could stop them.

"Oh, I doubt you'd know her. Doesn't exactly hang in your circles." He smirked. "If you know what I mean. And I'd bet my car, you do."

Whitlock was with a woman.

Every little comment, every innuendo and gut feeling which had led to this point with Whitlock was a lie. Edward had allowed himself to let his guard down about the man, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but he still did it anyway. His instincts had been right all along. He had a new appreciation for his prudent demeanour, and for the wall he had built up these past few years. He was thankful he hadn't made a fool of himself in Jimmy's office last night. The doubting was finally over, and he was grateful for that, so what he didn't understand was where his irritation was coming from. Determined not to let Whitlock see it, he fought to sound as normal as possible.

"I'm sure I can imagine your type," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some work to catch up on." He reached for the door, pulling it open as a signal to Whitlock, but he made no effort to leave. The bastard was still grinning, and watching Edward with a careful eye.

"That's it? That's all you've got?" Whitlock laughed. "I thought you had more in you than that."

"Well, that's one more thing you got wrong about me." He made a gesture for Whitlock to leave.

Whitlock folded his arms, rooted to his spot. "Come on, tell me about Weber."

"Sorry, I've got nothing." Edward was getting better at masking his frustrations with Whitlock, but his patience had run its course. He was on equal ground for once, and wasn't ready to give up his footing by telling Whitlock what he discovered this morning. "Just so you're aware," he said, still waiting for Whitlock to walk through the door, "dinner with my grandparents is a formal affair. Formal means no jeans, and you'll need a tie, Whitlock." Edward shoved Jasper out of the room when he started to protest.

"Looks like I'll have to borrow a suit, then!" Jasper said laughing.

Edward paused, giving him one quick smile. "I thought I was clear, I don't like to share. Ever," he said, and then slammed the door in Whitlock's face.


End file.
